


I Reach My Hands Out In the Dark

by deanwinchesterissaved



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Brave Ryan Bergara, Demon Shane Madej, I tried to tamp down on those since the boys are the important ones, M/M, Shane is a poor tortured demon boi, also non-critical cameos from other fandoms, cause i live for that sort of thing, ghost hunt gone wrong, there is a healthy amount of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:16:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesterissaved/pseuds/deanwinchesterissaved
Summary: Ryan always wanted to get evidence of the supernatural to shove in Shane's face. But as the saying goes, believing is not seeing.Inspired by prompt 28. “That’s not yours.” and spiraled into an actual story.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 93
Kudos: 435





	1. Devil on My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mega_purplezebracorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mega_purplezebracorn/gifts).

> I found this prompt from a list posted by Mega_purplezebracorn when searching google for "Buzzfeed Unsolved writing prompts". This is my second fic ever so bear with me, and please comment on what you think and suggestions for more prompts for the Ghoul Boys!

“That’s not yours.” 

Ryan almost dropped the dagger, a vicious little blade about the length of his forearm. It was heavier than it looked, with black spidery runes carved into the blade that looked vaguely Norse. He grinned, shifting the dagger into one hand and made a show of pointing it at Shane as if they were in a duel. 

"Nice piece. Is this part of your D&D collection?" There was an obsidian eye-shaped ornament on the crossguard that seemed to always look at him, however he angled it. The carved grip also stubbornly refused to warm to his grip, even with the august heat bearing down on it through the open curtains. 

Shane took a step towards him, one hand outstretched as if he was readying to grab the blade and snatch it out of Ryan's hands. His face was unusually serious, his whole body was taught as a bow as he kept his voice flat and steady. "Ryan please, just hand it to me."

"What's its story then?" Ryan asked, calling upon the skills he learned through a distant video at work to artfully twirl the knife until he was gently gripping the blade, the jeweled pommel now pointed at Shane. Buzzfeed was a weird, but infinitely interesting place to work. But it must have been longer than he thought since those lessons, and a slip of his hand had one of the double blades tapping against his palm. He hissed involuntarily as a cut opened up where the knife had touched, blood trickling out with more intensity than one would reasonably expect with a hand-wound. 

Shane did dart forward then, deftly snatching the dagger away, the silver blade now stained with droplets of red. Ryan clamped down on his wrist with his right hand, looking around for a paper towel and trying not to drip blood onto the thin carpet of Shane's living room. 

"Ryan are you okay?" Shane had abandoned the dagger on the corner of his bookshelf, reappearing at Ryan’s side already opening up a first-aid kit. He guided Ryan to the kitchen counter and, wetting a piece of gauze with medical alcohol, gently dabbed at the cut. Ryan looked down and realized with a slight start that the bleeding had almost stopped, the trails of blood that had run down his arm initially had also dried, the color seeming lighter and more pinkish rather than crimson. 

"That's weird," He frowned down at his hand, the sharp ache was still there, but the blood had all but disappeared. The skin around the cut had a whitish tint, almost as if the blood had been sucked away. 

"Stay still," Shane tsked, wrapping Ryan's hand in gauze and bandages, then smoothing out the edges. He paused with his head down, the tension in his body keeping him on the edge of his seat. His hands were shaking. Shane. Panicking. If Ryan wasn't so surprised and confused, he might have taken the chance to snipe at the man for actually showing some fear. Then softly, "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

Ryan looked up, his best friend's face looked incredibly sad, though it had been Ryan who was playing around with shit he shouldn't have. Goosebumps rose on his arm as he thought back to the bizarre biting cold of the dagger hilt. It's probably just made of a weird metal, he told himself firmly, it's just a cut, nothing to be whiny about. 

"Shane it's okay, totally my fault to be touching it to begin with anyway." He shrugged, pointedly steering the conversation towards their original goal today. "You still up for going to go through the footage? This time I've _ really _ compiled evidence that even you can't dismiss." He added, a hint of pride to his voice, cause the episode at Waverly Hills has got to be a win for the Boogaras. 

He also just really wanted Shane to stop looking at him with genuine worry and regret, because if Shane was truly concerned, it would mean the situation was reaching high levels of seriousness. And Ryan wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with any situation like that. 

"You think so?" the corner of Shane's mouth quirked upwards. He stood up and glanced at the desk where their laptops and headphones had already been set up. He studied Ryan's hand again and then his face, and Ryan watched as the other man visibly pushed the worry down, donning a haughty grin, "Please, give me all you got."

They trundled over, and Ryan’s eyes caught for a moment on the dagger on the bookshelf, gleaming bright as ever. Not a mark on it. 

For the next couple of days, Shane kept close to Ryan. He always seemed to be around doing something or other, but Ryan wasn't stupid, he'd seen his friend's assessing gaze sweep over him when he thought Ryan wasn't paying attention. It must have something to do with the weekend incident with the dagger, but the cut had closed with remarkable speed, fast enough that Ryan almost shoved it in Shane's face as evidence for the supernatural. 

Ryan didn't exactly think a ghost or demon was at work here, but the whole incident was strange, and it kept popping up in his head. The last time he had seen Shane that tense was when they got the death stare from the truck driver at Keddie Cabin. When Shane had found him with the dagger, the way Shane’s voice was flattened until the person behind it was almost stripped clean away, leaving only the words to convey their clear message, a warning. But it's not like there was any real danger, aside from his own clumsiness getting himself stabbed that is.

They were eating chipotle at their desks, and Ryan caught Shane looking at him again, with an almost wary look in his eyes. It was really getting weird now, his friend had been distant in their usual banter when they recorded the post mortem. With the shoot for the finale episode two days away, there was no way in hell he was going to a demon-infested house with this issue between them. Plus, Ryan really wanted his cheerful and hopelessly skeptical best friend back, he always felt braver when Shane was blatantly insulting the ghosts and demons anyway, so sue him. 

"Why do you keep watching me like I'm going to drop dead or something?" He twisted his head and asked, before Shane had the chance to pretend he wasn't just checking on Ryan, again. "I'm sorry I touched your stuff without asking, I'll try not to be stupid and get hurt again."

Shane turned to face him, resting his elbows on his knees. He was openly studying him now, his eyes crinkled with worry scanning Ryan over as if searching for any injuries that he can bandage and make better. Ryan returned the scrutiny in kind and blinked in surprise. Were the dark bruises under Shane's eyes there before? It looked like he had pulled a more than a few late nights, and Ryan hoped it was of his own volition. He himself hadn't been sleeping well for the past few days, always waking up with the sheets tangled around him like ropes, his heart racing with fear, though he never could remember what had caused it. It had become increasingly difficult to head to bed, knowing what he would face in sleep. So he had stayed up. Even his colleagues had noted the spike in his daily caffeine intake.

Shane swallowed, and at Ryan's eyebrow raised in question he said hesitantly, his voice low, "Have you, uh, experienced anything strange or abnormal, especially in sleep, since, well that." He gestured vaguely towards Ryan's once injured hand. His expression was stalwart, already bracing himself for a comeback he knows Ryan would be honor-bound to fire.

"Since when does Shane Madej give stock to any strange happenings during sleep? The Shaniacs around the country tremble at the uncertainty of their leader!" Ryan exclaimed with some glee, huffing out a little laugh, drawing a curious look from Eugene sitting at the desk across from them. It was such a shame that they didn't catch the moment on camera so the Boogaras out there can also boast of the triumph. He decided he'll tell the tale next postmortem. 

Shane was still looking at him intently, a hand hovering by his chin, his burrito lying forgotten. "Just, was there any change from the normal?" And the question was earnest enough that Ryan relented. 

"Nightmares mostly, but that's not exactly a surprise, considering that Waverly Hills_ was _ haunted." 

Shane's mouth stayed in a firm line, an expression Ryan wasn't used to seeing on his friend. The discussion ended there, and either Shane upgraded his surveillance techniques or he let the matter drop. Ryan didn't know which he'd feel safer knowing. 

  
  


"Is there anyone here with us? A demon maybe?"

The house creaked around them, even though it was mostly made of concrete and not the wood boards so often featured in horror movies and haunted houses. Ryan shivered, clenching his fists as he stared at the spirit box blaring static on the table between him Shane. His friend had been surprisingly more respectful this episode, not even openly insulting the demon said to frequent the two-story building. He now sat demurely in the opposite chair, frowning slightly at the spirit box, head slightly tilted as he did his best to humor Ryan and try to make out any responses from the gadget. 

Ryan's fingers accidentally brushed the raised line of the cut, and suddenly the spirit box let out an unearthly screech, just as pain flared in his palm. He cried out, watching in astonished horror as the scab was ripped off the wound like someone had _ unzipped _ his skin, blood gushing out from the now jagged wound and dripping onto the floorboards. Shane was instantly there, pressing a sleeve down on Ryan's hand, whipping his head around to scan the room. They only had two flashlights on, and it was dark enough that Ryan couldn't quite make out the whites of Shane's eyes amidst the shadows of his face. 

"Who is here with us? I demand that you show yourself." Shane's voice was filled with quiet authority as it rang out into the empty room, the spirit box's chatter now ear-splittingly loud in the silence. 

_ Shemodai, what company you keep nowadays _

Shane stiffened against Ryan's side, now turning to squarely face the spirit box. The words were eerily clear, a clearly connected sentence no less. Ryan froze in his chair, eyes riveted on the small black block of plastic, wires and electrical stuff. It was right there, the undeniable evidence that he had always wanted for himself and the fans, evidence that he would have brought to Shane without any doubts to his own sanity to proudly prove him wrong. He wished he could feel a fraction of that triumph now, but he was numb with fear as he watched Shane.

"We'll leave the house, we don't want trouble." Shane’s face was blank, but Ryan saw the tense lines of his shoulders beneath the flannel as he spoke. He shifted again, his hand moving to Ryan's arm, tugging him out of his chair so that he stood between Ryan and the spirit box. 

"Shane... what are you doing?" Ryan whispered, and a deep growling chuckle rocked the room. A tinkle of broken glass sounded behind him but Ryan didn’t dare take his eyes off the box. He bit down on his lip, swallowing down the whimper at the voice that sounded _ wrong _, distorted by the rhythmic static of the device. 

_ It trusts you, Shemodai, I never knew you to be so cruel. _

"The sacrifice was not meant for you, Balthazar. I have my assignment here, do not hinder it." Shane bared his teeth, and there was nothing human left in his face, only darkness twisting his features, the warning clearly telegraphed. But his voice shook, just a little, and Ryan clutched at his friend's arm, not caring at all about the cameras set up around them, what people might think. That all seemed very far away now that they're actually facing down a--a_ demon _ ? The logical part of Ryan's mind searched his memory for the name Balthazar. He vaguely remembered it coming up once when they were suggesting what scary demons names might be. Shane had _ laughed _, the dick, when Ryan suggested that name. Now Shane seems to be familiar with this Balthazar on a first-name basis, and not in a good way. Did demons have last names?

_ You seemed to have strayed quite far from your orders, wouldn't you say? _

The frustration seemed to give a little boost to his bravery level, and he straightened, forcing his hands to push against Shane's arm so they stood side by side, facing down the spirit box together. "What are you? What do you want with us, with Shane?" He was definitely channeling his Ricky Goldsworth bravado now.

_ You shall see, little human _

The spirit box exploded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shane's demon name Shemodai was borrowed from raven_aorla's amazing work Video Appeal. Please go check that work out if you haven't read it yet! https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128079
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	2. Circles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter two! It's not a one-shot anymore. Hooray! Enjoy!
> 
> Also please leave me comments to tell me what ya'll think.

Fear, sharp and true had struck Shane in his chest the brief moment before the spirit box had let out that shriek, when the device had started vibrating with energy darker than the night around them. He knew that energy signature well, had trained under it and fought with it more times than he can count, down under. 

When Ryan had cried out, blood spilling onto the floorboards, Shane bolted to his friend, his eyes slipping to their inky darkness to scan the room, once, twice. It  _ can't  _ be him, he was supposed to be occupied with far more important assignments, but it was, and this was  _ exactly _ why he'd been on edge ever since Ryan cut his hand on the dagger. Shane's blade, the one hell had crafted for him to drink in the blood and ichor of all those he would hurt and destroy over millennia. 

"Who is here with us? I demand that you show yourself." He kept his voice even, for Ryan's sake. The room was bright enough that Ryan could probably see the shift in his features, but Shane pushed that concern away. That particular conversation would come after Shane got his friend out of this blooming shit show, if Shane made it out too. 

_ Shemodai, what company you keep nowadays _ , said the voice that haunted his mind when his guard loosened in sleep. He tugged Ryan up with one arm, deliberately stepping forward, using his vessel's lanky frame to stand between the younger man and the demon. He drew on his power, more of it than he'd called on in a long time, and surrounded himself with it, hoping to appear stronger, a force considerable enough to not be worth the effort of attacking. "We'll leave the house, we don't want trouble."

"Shane... what are you doing?", came Ryan's voice from behind him, and Shane could feel him trembling against his back. The poor man must be scared out of his mind, facing one of his worst fears in the flesh. 

_ It trusts you, Shemodai, I never knew you to be so cruel. _ The spirit box hissed, and anger boiled within him at the words, crackling around the fear until it was a flickering blaze. 

"The sacrifice was not meant for you, Balthazar. I have my assignment here, do not hinder it." He shot back, daring to invoke the demon's name, injecting confidence into his words and wishing his  _ colleague _ would not challenge him and leave, please  _ just leave  _ —

_ You seemed to have strayed quite far from your orders, wouldn't you say? _

Dread curled in his chest, and he couldn't quite control it as his hands began shaking slightly. Because Balthazar was _ right _ , the bastard. He was never supposed to linger, his assignment was clear cut, but when it came to Ryan's turn, he just couldn't do it. Couldn't bring himself to snuff out so bright a light, hells damn him. 

"What are you? What do you want with us, with Shane?" There was Ryan's voice, strained with fear but louder and clearer than before. Stepping up to stand with him side by side, his mortal friend was trying to protect  _ him _ . Shane glanced at Ryan, wanting to yell at him to run  _ now _ , and never turn back, but he knew that Ryan never would. The man was capable of surprising bravery in the face of danger, despite his anxiety during most of their investigations. 

The doors would be sealed closed anyway. 

The demon let out a cackle of laughter, his voice dripping with the promise of violence and pain,  _ You shall see, little human. _ And the spirit box exploded. 

There was no time to think, and instincts took over. Shane threw his hands up before Ryan, a surge of dark power manifesting between the younger man and the speeding shrapnel from the stupid spirit box. The shards struck his shield with more force than he had anticipated, and he gritted his teeth against the combination of blows dealt to his magic and exposed body. His wounds would heal, but Ryan's wouldn't, not easily.

When silence fell and no more blows came, he cautiously glanced around with his obsidian eyes, keeping his power pulsing around the smaller man, just in case. The room was empty, any remnant of foreign demonic power gone without a trace. The two flashlights were turning on and off haphazardly, thankfully merely the result of the reflector cooling. Shane's borrowed heart raced, and a nagging thought at the edge of his mind whispered warnings, of the emptiness not being right, but the idea never had the chance to fully take form before it melted away. 

He shook himself, it didn't matter where Balthazar was now, the important thing was that he wasn't here. If Shane had to guess, the demon was dropping down to hell to get an unholy warrant on him with his ... handler. It was best not to invoke that name, even thinking it may create unwanted attention.

He turned to Ryan, slightly loosening the darkness so he can reach over and catch his friend by the arm, barely noting the weight. Having supernaturally enhanced strength came in handy at times like this. He spoke gently but firmly, hoping the man's burst of bravery still strengthened him, "Ryan we need to leave,  _ now _ ." He gave another sweep of the room, this time daring to uncurl some of his power to sense out every corner. There was a dripping sound nearby, probably a shattered vase or something. The air in the room was still, too still. 

Ryan's arm was a little limp, and Shane half turned his head to urge him on, "Ryan, come  _ on _ —

_ Blood _ . There was blood running out of Ryan's mouth, and more was gushing out of the dozen wounds scattered across his torso. The man was sagging in Shane's grip, his legs losing strength due to pain and blood loss. The dark red liquid trickled onto the ground with a fleeting rhythm, the drip-drip-drip of Ryan's life draining away. The slight fluttering of his eyelids the only sign that he was still conscious, still in pain. 

Shane let out a broken cry, tears rising to his eyes. He sank to his knees, cradling Ryan with one hand and laying the other on the young man's chest, futilely trying to staunch the bleeding from cuts that were too deep and more importantly should  _ not be there _ . He hadn’t felt his power tear, had scrounged up all of his power to wrap around his friend. It should have been enough to protect him from the blast. It was only a plastic box for fuck's sake. 

Ryan's body trembled, splintered wheezes sounding from his chest. A lung had collapsed, and with the rate of the blood flow, an artery had also been hit. They were miles away from any hospitals, and Shane didn't have the power to teleport them both out of here. There was so much blood—Shane was past used to blood and gore from his centuries of training in the pits. But this blood was coming out of  _ Ryan _ , his friend with a fragile mortal's body that can't be reset day after day like the condemned souls he had torn apart. 

His power curled around them in vain, writhing in agitation. It had been formed from the ether and stitched to his broken soul to hurt, plunder and destroy. To even  _ attempt _ to twist it to mend, to _ heal _ was so blasphemous it would burn him right out of his borrowed body. But Shane would have gladly done it, damn the blasted consequences. The years he had spent with Ryan had been the only ones where he had known peace and carefree joy. He would have offered up his life and eternal existence for Ryan to live if he had any guarantee that the attempt wouldn't bring down destruction on his friend too. 

Such a thing has never been done before. 

A wet whimper rasped, and Shane whipped his head around to find Ryan staring at him, his eyes wide with fear. Belatedly Shane realized he hadn't put his sight away, hastily blinking them back to their normal brown. But the sight of the blackness in them was enough to tell Ryan what he was if he didn't guess at it already. The man shied away from Shane's touch, an arm pushing at his chest feebly as if he couldn't stand his presence. More blood leaked from under Shane's hand as Ryan tried to twist away. 

"H-hey Ryan, come on buddy, you gotta stay still. You're gonna be okay, I promise. I'll fix this, I will." Shane was rambling, a surprising human habit that tacked onto him in the decades he's been conducting missions up here. He couldn't stop his voice from shaking, and some part of his twisted soul broke as Ryan turned his face away, eyes shut tightly to block out the sight of Shane.

His borrowed heart thudding and tripping over itself, Shane shifted, cupping one hand under Ryan's head while the other remained above the man's shuddering heart. He tried to gather every vestige of his power, reaching out to claw at the misery of the ancient house, ripping open the old wounds and feeding off the lingering fear of the mortals whose lives had been cut short before their due times at this very spot. His Ryan would  _ not _ join that list. Not on his watch. 

"I'll fix this." He repeated to himself, to Ryan, to any so-called higher power that might be listening. Ryan's head drooped, his heart stuttering in his chest, each beat weaker than the last.  _ I will fix this. _ Damn the consequences. The power of demons and angels came from the same stock right?

The moment he reached out with his power, creeping, lashing out and curling like vines around the blood matted flannel and the jagged wounds beneath, he did not give fear the chance to stop him and set his very essence on fire. He seized his power and twisted, clawed and tore at it. Agony, white-hot and blinding struck him as if he had gripped onto a dozen powerlines. He could feel each kilovolt burning and searing through every particle of his being. 

He distantly registered that he was screaming, a high-pitched wail filling the little house, louder and louder. He felt something snap, in himself or in the very fabric of reality, and his power shattered into brilliant shards of light, rocketing from his hollowed-out husk of a vessel and blasting all around him. 

  
  


He was still there, kneeling on the floorboards drenched in Ryan's blood, and Ryan—

The man laid on his lap, silent, unmoving.  _ Dead _ .

A howl ripped out of Shane's abused throat, filled with more pain and anguish than all the shrieks of the billions of souls in hell. He pulled his friend close, burying his face in Ryan's shoulder and rocked them both. Tears streamed down his face, Shane rocked and rocked as if it could take back what he'd done. He'd damned the man the moment he entered into his life. It’s his fault, it’s all—

_ Your fault, indeed. Look what a mess you've made, little Shemodai _

Suddenly Shane's hands curled in on air. Ryan was gone. Ryan was  _ gone _ . Where did he  _ go _ —

_ Don't bother. The seer is no longer your concern _

"Where did you take him?  _ I will _ ** _ kill you_ ** ,  ** _you bastard_ ** !" Shane snarled, leaping up to face the new presence now standing by the door to the room. It was a shadow shades darker than night, but Shane could still see the smirk on its face as it surveyed the scene. 

_ Tut tut, Shemodai. That little display of yours _ , it flicked a hand towards the scorched walls, marks where his power had shattered against them. It continued in a light singsong tone,  _ It's against the rules. _

Shane tried to lash out at him but only scraped the unforgiving bottom of the well where his power used to be. With a blink from the demon, he was slammed onto the floor, cheek scraping on the rackety wood and limbs straining against the invisible force. 

_ You've been up above for too long, lost your edge,  _ there was disgust and even a trace of pity in its voice, as if Shane was a fine piece of art that had been drawn over by naive toddlers in marker.  _ Time for a little reminder of your true purpose on this earth.  _

It clicked its tongue, and the floorboards disappeared from beneath him.

Shane fell and fell. 

  
  


Forty-seven miles away, in the brightly lit ICU of the state hospital, a man with a dozen shrapnel wounds sluggishly leaking blood onto his shirt and jean jacket appeared onto an empty cot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: for the part when Shane was trying to heal Ryan, prior to writing that section, I deliberately went and reread an amazing Good Omens fanfiction 'Bless Your Wings and Live Life Eternal' by Tenoko1(which is really good and you should read it), knowing that there was a scene that would be amazing in my story. 
> 
> As a result, those passages sound wildly similar, and that is my fault. Tenoko1 I apologize, I do not mean to claim your work as my own. 
> 
> If you're curious about the title, I listened to 'Circles' (a song based on Ludovico Einaudi's "Experience") by Greta Svabo Bech on repeat while writing this. I found it fitting for the feel of this chapter. 
> 
> Again I'd love to hear about what you think! Thank you for reading!


	3. A Little Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for depression and characters hurting themselves out of frustration, be safe.

  
  


He stirred, his mind was sluggish like a turtle mired in tar.

He was so tired, unable to process the sounds and images barraging his mind, bits, and pieces of memory torn out and tangled around him, tying down his limbs, constricting his throat, slashing at his skin. 

Something had gone horribly wrong. There was something he needed to do, needed to do _ now _.

Not to run, not this time. 

_ To fight _ , yes that was it. There was danger there with him in the room, and he had stepped forward to confront it. He couldn't let him face it alone, not when the thing had known him, had called him by that _ name _— 

_ Shane _

The name exploded through the darkness in his head with brilliant white shards of light. Shane, his friend; Shane who had, for once, taken an investigation seriously, speaking back to the spirit box; Shane, who had shielded him from the blast of shrapnel; Shane who had held him and screamed in agony, who had burned and _ burned, _ that dark power now brightened, rushing into and around his body to heal, to mend, warping reality itself just to _ get him out of there, get him help. _

Shane, the demon. 

Ryan's eyes fluttered open, squinting against the cold light from high above. There was a sharp beeping against his eardrums, picking up speed and setting off more mechanic chattering. Soon there were faces above him, faces that were _ not Shane _. 

_ Where was he? _ Lurching up, or trying to, he felt pressure and pain spiking lightning-fast across his chest. His body crumpled back down, dark spots encroaching onto the corners of his vision. "Sha—"He choked out, throat dry and scratchy with disuse, before everything faded back into blackness. 

  
  


It took another 4 hours until Ryan wakes again, a total of 15 hours after he was found in the hospital's ICU and rushed into surgery. Their cameraman Mark made it to the hospital an hour later, shaken by the flashes and sounds he witnessed from his post outside the house, and what he found inside. A nurse was a fan, they told Ryan, she had identified him.

The police came to speak to him, asking what he remembered of his attack and Shane's disappearance, their questions passing over him in a daze and he answered in as much honesty as he could: A piece of equipment exploded during the investigation, he got caught in the blast and lost consciousness. No, he did not know how he got to the ICU, nor did he know where Shane had gone. 

Ryan's mind strained for answers that did not come. He wanted to tell the tight faced men all he knew, wanted to let down the weight of knowing what was out there, of what _ Shane _ was, if even just for a moment. He might have done so if he thought the regular mortal police could do anything against the supernatural. Getting himself locked up in a mental asylum wouldn't help things either. 

He drifted in and out of dreams and reality, fighting to stay awake when he came to, just to avoid the endless replay of that night. 

The explosion of noise, the wave of darkness that had _ come out of _ Shane to form a solid wall before him, protecting him from the blast. The shrapnel, cold as ice, passing through that shield effortlessly to rip into his body, burrowing deep and freezing his insides. 

When Shane had held him, his face wracked with such sorrow and regret and _ panic _ . Ryan had stared at the man in horror, not because of his depthless black eyes, but trying to warn him of the cold spreading through him, taking over the control of his limbs, _ forcing _ them to push at Shane, twisting his head away and shutting his eyes. 

_ "H-hey Ryan, come on buddy, you gotta stay still. You're gonna be okay, I promise. I'll fix this, I will." _

Ryan's heart broke at Shane's cracked voice. He desperately wanted to look at his friend, to say to him loud and clear that it's_ alright. _ It's alright that he was a demon and it's alright that he didn't tell Ryan for _ years _ . Ryan will be mad, oh yes, he would come back and haunt the fuck out of Shane for that, now that he knew the supernatural was out there. But, he did not hate Shane, wasn't afraid of him. He trusted the big guy. He _ needed _ Shane to know that, didn't want Shane to think—to blame himself for whatever had happened. 

But the ice wouldn't let him, wouldn't let him look at his friend one last time before the end.

Then Shane had screamed, and everything was lit up with amazing bright shards of light.

  
  


Time passed in a blur. Ryan got out of intensive care and returned to his LA apartment, going through the motions just to keep himself functional. He didn't dare look at social media or the fans, relying on news provided by the detective assigned to his case, hoping and hoping for any sign of Shane. 

Seven days after the incident, a lawyer came to see Ryan, telling him that Shane's will appointed Ryan as the trustee of his property upon Shane's death or prolonged absence. Shane had instructed him to deliver a note, the lawyer said, and there in Shane's scrawling hand was written,

_ I'm sorry I've gone away. I've taken measures to ensure your safety. Please forget me. _

Ryan read the note twice and the note crinkled in his hand.

Ryan slumped back against the door, blowing out a heavy breath as he stared down at the cat cage on the floor, the wired door ajar and empty. There were supplies deposited near the door, bags and dispensers that he only half knew how to use, footsteps were echoing down the hallway outside, and the apartment was completely silent. 

Shane’s property, the lawyer had informed him, also included Obi. 

Obi who hasn’t come out from under the couch in a week. Ryan had given him space to adjust, he was a house-cat after all, and this was not his house.

But the food bowl was still full, and the water he’d left out hadn’t seen much movement aside from evaporation.

“Obi? Come out, buddy.”

Ryan called softly, knees against the cool floor and head bent low to peer into the cramped space beneath the couch, his voice spoken out loud jarring to his own ears.

The dull glint of eyes in the shadows stare back at him, and Ryan’s chest tightened, a bitter taste in his mouth. Did Obi know_ , _ he wondered, did the goddamn _ cat _know about Shane before he did? 

Cautiously, he reached a hand into the gap, the piece of raw fish cold and wet against his fingers. Sushi was a last-ditch effort, he supposed. But Ryan didn’t know what more he could do after four kinds of store-bought cat food.

“This is fresh, see? Should taste better than the dry stuff at least.”

There were gentle shuffles but his hand lay ignored, and he stifled the urge to shine a flashlight down there to ease his mind, however little he can manage. 

“Obi please, you’ve got to eat something.” He spoke into the gap, trying to keep his voice soothing, but a quiver crept in just the same. He extended his hand a little more but the cat hissed. 

“I know you miss Sha-” he started, voice splintering off over the name. Swallowing, he tried again, speaking past the hollowness in his chest, “I miss hi-im too, but he’s going to be back soon, I know it.” 

“But you’ve gotta take care of yourself so you can welcome him back yeah? He’s really gonna wanna see you, please, come on. Don’t you want to be there” He broke off again, arm straining with the effort. It really shouldn’t be, but he brushed that thought away. 

He set the fish on a napkin and withdrew his arm, barely able to make out the sharp points of bared teeth in the shadows. 

Ryan sat back on his knees and dragged a hand down his face, palm closing over his mouth when a sob threatened to rise up. The last thing the cat needed was to deal with his issues too. 

“Obi he’s not here anymore, I can’t lose you too.”  
_You’re the only thing of him I have left_.

He clamped his teeth down on his knuckles, letting the sharp ache stand prominent in the forefront of his mind, to cover, to shadow something else, _ everything _ else, because he had to. He wasn’t strong enough to face it, not alone. 

But there was no one else. 

  
  
  
  
  


He tried braving returning to work four weeks after the surgery, to somehow fix the permanently broken Unsolved season. His team and his superiors have tiptoed around him, been considerate, letting him take his time. They even got Brent to partner with him again, the man displaying a surprising eagerness to rejoin their team after leaving so hurriedly years ago. 

They tried for a local site, setting up the filming equipment to record the narration of the place’s spooky history. The air was tense and awkward, no one really looking at Ryan as if they had had a discussion about it. Ryan had gotten out all of six words in the intro "This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we inves--" before he glanced to his right out of habit— to where Shane always sat, shaking his head at the camera or doing other stupid shit to express his everlasting incredulity at the whole situation— and found someone else. 

He was pretty sure he started hyperventilating, and his memory of the half-hour afterward was fuzzy. 

What can you do? 

Ryan found himself in front of the mirror, hands braced on the sink, the thin streak of sunlight from the next room the only illumination. His image stared back at him, shoulders hunched and hair limp, the dark bruises under his eyes showing through from where Devon had tried to cover them with concealer. 

Something terrible had happened, and Shane, he had tried to help Ryan, where is Shane now? What had happened to him?

What can _ you _ do? His eyes were questioning in the mirror. He should be looking for more leads, researching the older versions of lore on demons, _ something _. He needed to do something. 

But here he was, getting stuck in his own head in his bathroom, and he can’t even fucking hold down his usual job. His gaze swept over himself, haggard and exhausted, the muscles he had worked so hard on before losing their shape with disuse. How could he have been so ignorant, so _ stupid _ for all those years? Maybe if he had figured it out, like he always wanted to figure out the cases they looked into, if he had known--

_ It wouldn’t have changed a thing, _his reflection said, and there wasn’t anything supernatural about it because it was true. 

It was the bare truth because nothing would have changed, because he fucked up like he always does, and Shane paid the price to clean up _ his _ mess and now Shane’s gone.

A scream tore out of him, his voice twisted into something fierce and unnatural and he lashed out. Cold pain lanced up his arm, his own image splintering out from where he had struck with his fist, dark liquid trickling into the cracks and crevices. 

Nothing changed, of course it didn’t. 

He collapsed to the floor, clutching his hand to his chest, a deep ache flaring up in his back where it hit the toilet seat. 

_ Pathetic, _ his mind spat, _ that’s what you are. _

The network would fix the mess somehow. People came and left Buzzfeed all the time, after all.

So he sat on the cold tiles and shook and shook, eyes open because even blinking hurt. 

And when a soft bundle of orange fur padded over to curl up in his lap, he hugged the cat tight, letting the low purrs sink into his chest and wrap around the sharp edges there. He was getting blood on Obi’s fur, but the cat didn’t seem to particularly mind. 

“What can I do?” He whispered, pressing his face into the cat’s side. 

He sucked in a shuddering breath, then another.

Then another.

  
  


It was a weekend morning. He sat at his kitchen table and listened to the tight-faced detective talk about the recent developments. 

The police had found holes in Shane's records, his history. When they had dug further, not one person seemed sure they had known a ‘Shane Madej’ before he came to Buzzfeed and joined Ryan on his show, after Brent had begged off on vague excuses about other obligations. The police were listing Shane as a suspect of Ryan's attack now, a _ fucking _ suspect, for god's sake. As if Shane hadn't been taken himself.

Shane was a demon, still is. It figures that he would have created an identity to fit into human society. Ryan had to believe that he had been taken by Balthazar, likely not to a warm welcome, judging by the demon's words, but Shane was still alive, he had to be. 

Ryan wasn't scared of Shane, he had no reason to be. Shane was the one who had been with him every step of the way, shielding him from his own fear through all of their investigations.

"Detective," Ryan said quietly, knowing it likely wouldn’t do much to change the man’s opinion, but needing him to hear it, all the same, "Shane shouldn't be a suspect. I trust him. He didn't do this."

The man sighed, closing the folder of reports, all on Shane's shaky existence as who people thought he was. He gave Ryan a pitying glance, "Well, people change. You can never know someone completely." 

  
  


Ryan’s head jerked up when his phone’s message alert went off, which shouldn’t have been possible since it was on airplane mode. 

He reached for the little block from where he’d abandoned it at the edge of the table, picking it up with his fingertips like it might be a contagious thing. It was from a blocked number, the text displayed in an elegant cursive wholly unlike the upright font of his phone's standard-setting.

‘_ Hello Ryan, we know what happened the night with the demon and what Shane wrote. Come meet us. You need to know the truth about his past and be shown the options you have.’ _

Ryan hesitated for a second before sending a quick 'who are you'. He was almost not surprised when it went through, a second message popping up signed ‘_ friends’ _. It was an address Ryan recognized, a small shop dubbed 'Coffee for Sasquatch' that he had taken Shane to once as a joke, proclaiming his friends' ownership of the pretty little store to the wry amusement of the employees. 

Anger found him first, but it merely simmered for a moment before giving way to hesitant hope and curiosity. He hadn’t told anyone about Shane’s note and the specific references must mean whoever they are, they have some knowledge of the paranormal. Then there was the fact that the messages had been sent without radio signals. This could be an actual lead on the supernatural side of the story, the part the police would never dig into. 

Ryan could feel the tightly wound energy of the past months in his fingertips. Bolting up from his seat, he packed all the water bottles he could scrounge up and set off to the nearest church. He would follow down this rabbit hole, and if it proved fruitless, he would claw up another. 

Somehow. 

Ryan sat at a window facing table, both hands under the table keeping a napkin over two brightly colored water guns.

The text had said 'we', so he had prepared as best he could. He had filled them that morning, and he sat scanning the stream of people on the street, trying to get back some of the advantages that the other party seems to have so much of. He had scoped out the shop and the surrounding blocks yesterday afternoon, just to be safe. But no matter what he did, he hadn't been able to calm the tremor in his hand that had developed after the incident, a display of physical weakness that irked him to no end. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have broken that mirror. 

There was a fluttering noise as if a bird had flapped into the shop, and suddenly there were two men sitting across from Ryan. 

He let out a half-stifled yelp, whipping out his water guns and pointing one at each of them, the water within rippling from his quivering hand. He spared a glance around the shop and found nothing out of the ordinary, all the patrons enjoying their coffee as usual. "Wha-, how did you appear like that?" 

The blond-haired man threw up his hands in a placating gesture,

"It is very nice to finally meet you, Ryan. I am Aziraphale. Please put that pistol down, it won't work on me. We're on the same side, me and that water,” he said evenly in a British accent, a small pitying smile crossing his face. Ryan’s gaze flicked towards his dark clothed companion, and the man added hastily, 

"Not, him though. You'll actually do a good deal of damage to Crowley here." With a snap of his fingers, the water in the pistols emptied, cool steam rising up and away into the street. 

Ryan stared at them both, doing his damned best to _ not freak out _ at the powers so casually displayed, in broad daylight too. He focused on the blond man dressed in the beige frock coat, bowtie, and tan vest, taking a steadying breath.

"You said you know about Shane and that night. How." It wasn't a question as much as a demand, as confident a one as he can make anyway.

"He was a colleague of mine.” It was the dark-haired one— Crowley— that replied, tilting his sunglasses down to fix Ryan with a yellow-eyed stare, though Ryan didn't feel that any hostility lay behind it, just a quiet understanding. 

It was kind of odd, he mused absently, receiving empathy from a demon, but Shane had been no different. He probably should consider himself lucky that he had met two of the outliers of hell’s staff before the general population. 

“One of the best agents for jobs on earth, as was I. Shemodai's been keeping me up to date on matters after I managed to break off from home-office. Last few years he’s been coming to me for more of the, ah, touchy advice. Rebellion, and such. Ways to evade the system, to tweak little details_ just so, _ to keep his handler from noticing that he hasn't been doing his job the way it was meant to be done. It's how we started, centuries ago." The demon shared a fond look with the other man, a look that bore an uncanny similarity to what Ryan had caught himself giving Shane after the man had been done something especially thoughtful ridiculous.

Calmer now, Ryan could spot the bond between the two, the way they sat together easily despite the drastically opposing definitions that had been given to them since the beginning of time. To think of staying alive and present throughout history's bumps and twists… that kind of experience has to make some dents in who you started as a person. What had changed for Shane?

“It is dangerous doing this sort of trickery, and the punishment for disobedience isn't pretty.” Crowly's face turned hard, mouth forming a tight line, "He and I were always a tad different from the rest, but up until then he was still the good little soldier, going on all the important missions for the bosses."

"What do you mean missions?" Ryan asked, a memory tugging at the word, something the demon had said about Shane, how he had strayed from his orders, "The night at the mansion, Balth--‘’ 

"Don't." Aziraphale cut in firmly, eyes tilting in sympathy, "Do not use names lightly, they imbue power."

All this sympathy was getting on his nerves. All the people he knew had just _ changed _ the way they interacted with him, walking a stiff perimeter around him and being oh so careful with their words as if just the wrong sentence might shatter Ryan beyond repair from the cracks that had been sown that night. 

All their well wishes didn't do a damn thing to help bring Shane back. 

“How about you just tell me the whole truth. I’m not fragile.” His words were laced with more bitterness than he expected, but it was a relief to finally say them all the same. 

Crowly tilted his head at Aziraphale like _ told you so _. Ignoring the returned warning look returned, he sat forward, his lean frame tense as he splayed his hands on the table. 

"The facts then. Your friend was ordered to track down and eliminate seers, the humans who can recognize the supernatural or, in rare cases, receive prophetic visions. Just to give themselves an edge in other operations, blocking an information source for humanity if you will. Thirteen years he's been on this hunt." 

"How many?" Ryan breathed, his heart seemed to have quit its job, numbness muffling the horror that was rushing up for the man he had thought he'd known well. "How many has he killed?"

"One hundred sixty-five for this mission, and countless more for others. He _ was _ a brilliant soldier."

Ryan sat back in his chair, letting out his breath slowly, barely registering the glare Aziraphale sent the demon. _ One hundred sixty-five _. Shane has been fierce, sure, but he was usually kind enough that Ryan wouldn't think he'd kill anybody. But again, it would do something to explain his macabre sense of humor when their discussions came across grizzly details. 

"He ingratiated himself into human society again to get at you, but he couldn't do it. And seeing your soul, I can understand why." Aziraphale continued, offering Ryan a small smile. "It shines with unusual vigor."

"Do you know where they might have taken him? I-is he still alive?" Ryan's voice cracked, and he almost didn't care. As long as he got the information he needed to find Shane, and bring him back. Heaven and Hell can go fuck themselves. 

"He tried to heal you." Crowly’s voice was low, "It’s bad, Ryan. It has never been done, and if it has, the perpetrators have been erased from history _ very _ thoroughly. You being one of his original targets makes it worse. They will kill him. He's damaged goods now, no matter how good he was." he winced, "I used to be part of the execution party, it's never quick."

"How do I find him? I have to get him out of there, I can't leave him to suffer--" The words tumbled out of Ryan, his throat closing up, unable to stop fear from looming up from its ugly lair once more. He forced himself to pause, to wait as the dark-haired man opened his mouth to speak.

"Your generation of seers have yet to be enlightened because there is an older one out there that still lives. I'd wager Madej left a few blokes there to save you the strain. The order of enlightenment was written up above somewhere around 8BC, give or take. Humans aren't allowed to pass through Hell either, that rule was written a tad earlier. But," Crowly let that word hang, looking at Ryan meaningfully, giving him time to stop him, to refuse the weight of the possible solution to this mess, "the rules _ can _ be overridden." 

"Tell me how, and I'll do it." Ryan squared his shoulders, fists clenched below the table, refusing to let them see the tremor in his hand, trying his damnedest to be brave, for Shane. 

"I can expose you to the sight and teach you to guard your mind. We will be ready to receive you when you return, but down below, you will be on your own." Aziraphale gulped, fidgeting with his coat buttons as if what he was about to say was against his very being. When he spoke it was so quiet that Ryan had to strain to hear the words. 

"The only way for an untainted human to enter hell is if you are killed by a demon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I have added new characters from Good Omens. But for the purposes of this fic not the entirety of the Good Omens mythology will transfer. For one, hell doesn't look like a dank basement with lizard carrying demons. Nor does heaven look like a brightly lit corporate building. Maybe. I haven't gotten there yet. 
> 
> [Note from the future: while writing the last chapter, I have gone back and added Obi to the story! I am working to smooth out the narrative with Obi added so please tell me if there are inconsistencies]
> 
> Once again, please drop a comment on what you thought of this chapter, it was pretty lore heavy but bear with me, we'll get to some mind action soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Light the Way

_ Getting himself killed by a demon to get to hell. _ It seems that life, the sly fucker, never ceases in their task to punch Ryan in the face, one way or another. The irony did not escape Ryan, the fact that he would be directly disregarding Shane's wishes and what he had  _ sacrificed  _ himself for in the first place. 

But wasn't Shane the one always telling him to take initiative on their investigations and let loose a little? To try the things that he had previously been too terrified to even think about, like cussing out a ghost or wandering pitch-black hallways all on his lonesome. Now that Ryan knew what Shane was, it did a lot to explain his stupidly dangerous actions at all the sites. Hell, he very well might have been shielding Ryan the whole time, putting himself and his power between Ryan and whatever crossed into their path, be it ghoul, demon or just plain old fear itself.

And wouldn't it only be just and right, that Ryan would finally get to repay the debt now that Shane is caught in a web he can’t get out of? Even with his demonic origins, Shane was  _ good _ . He didn't deserve to bear the wrath of Hell itself, just because Ryan fucked up by touching that dagger. Or because of Ryan's extra shiny and incandescent soul or whatever. 

Maybe now he can put the stupid thing to good use. 

"Okay," He said, lifting his head from where it had fallen onto his hands after Aziraphale had dropped that info-bomb on him. "Okay," he said again, just to steady himself, "When do we start?"

The two beings had sat across him quietly, letting him process. Now at his words, Crowley beamed, his yellow cat eyes lighting up even behind the tinted glasses like he was proud of his demon friend’s choice in his human. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was looking a little ill, he had probably hoped Ryan would back off after that little piece of information.

"Well angel, you've got to hand it to the little man! If you'll do the honors?" then to Ryan, "he can't do it here, it will cause quite a ruckus that even the magic won't be able to keep the mortals oblivious. Take his hand.” The demon was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, and hold your breath.”

Ryan did as he was told, reaching across the table to grasp Aziraphale's offered hand, the water pistols lying forgotten on the table. "Don't you start with the short jokes too." He muttered under his breath, earning a snicker from Crowley. 

The angel's hand was warm and soft, yet lined with strength as it closed around his own, then there was a jerk on his arm as Ryan felt the world tilt _ up _ . Wind, clean and crisp, whipped his face as he flew through space, holding onto Aziraphale for dear life. His open eyes only saw a swirl of color, light and dark, so he shut them tight, trying to focus on how they were certainly  _ not _ 30,000 feet in the air. God, he hated heights. 

The wind cut out abruptly, the ground coming up to meet his feet with a gravelly crunch. Ryan cracked open an eye and found himself in an open lot, filled with dozens of cars in varying degrees of disrepair, missing wheels, doors or windshields, some even piled on top of each other. A salvage yard? 

"Where are we?" he asked, bewildered, turning around to spot a worn blue two-story house and a large open-sided barn at the edge of the field, he couldn’t see any tall buildings, so somewhere in the country then. The air carried enough chill that Ryan brought up his arms to wrap around himself. 

"South Dacota. Friend of mine owns the place." Crowley still had that grin on his face, and Ryan felt a pang of sympathy for this friend who has had to put up with the demon's ... character. Crowley made for a swooping bow, "The stage is all yours, angel." 

There was the tinkling of gravel and Aziraphale stepped in front of Ryan, hands clasped together, “You’re absolutely sure, Ryan? I cannot block your sight once I expose you to it.”

“Yes, I-I’m sure.” And maybe his voice did shake a little, but he was about to get his fucking third eye opened, sue him.

"I fear this is going to be uncomfortable, my dear man, but it will only last a few moments." 

Ryan nodded in silent permission, and the angel placed his palms on either side of Ryan's head, the heel of his hand pressing inward at the temples. Ryan clenched his fists at his side, bracing himself. He figured it was one of those situations where the adult would lie to the kid that an injection won't really hurt, and shit, now he's tensing up even more at the thought of needles piercing his skin. 

He shut his eyes, searching for a good calm memory to hold onto, and out floated the image of him and Shane squatting awkwardly in a jacuzzi tub, hysterical laughter bouncing off the bathroom walls. The man was so freakishly tall he had had to fold up his whole body to fit in the tub without touching Ryan. 

Heat curled in Ryan’s chest, dancing on the edge of uncomfortable, and he prayed that whatever Aziraphale was doing didn't allow the angel to see inside his thoughts, even as his brain gripped onto the memory like a vise. 

_ But why not, _ a small voice countered,  _ it's not like there's something you don't want him to know,  _ right? 

Shut up, Ryan thought, conjuring a stop-sign to slap that little voice right back into the darkness where it had come from. He would think about that later, not that it can go anywhere if he can't get Shane out of hell. 

An intake of breath from the angel was the only warning Ryan got before pure piercing white light filled his vision, and his skull suddenly felt too tight around his head. Dimly he heard the angel chant something in a smooth language that he had never heard of, fingertips tracing patterns into his scalp. The light extended into his mind, probing gently, wrapping around clumps of memories and tangled emotions, radiating a heat that falls on the too-hot side of cozy. His eyes were heating up too, not burning, but as if he’d been staring at the sun for way longer than medically advisable, and the planet was seeping into him, trying to infuse his eyes with light. 

Another few seconds and it was over. Ryan staggered back when the angel released him, eyes still clamped shut, heart hammering away in his chest. Deep breaths, Ryan reminded himself, those always work. 

It was as if his words had physically caged his heart and held on until the thing slowed its movements to normal speed, and within moments Ryan could feel his adrenaline fading. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes. The gravel was ash white, and it didn't look much different than before. A sleek line of darkness poked out from the corner of his vision, and for a moment he thought he was going to embarrass himself in front of a literal  _ angel _ by passing out, but the darkness stayed where it was. Ryan jerked his head around, and at the source was a mass of darkness, and in that darkness stood Crowley. 

He took an involuntary step away from the demon, and the darkness surrounding the figure quivered when Crowley let out a whistle, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Bravo angel, you've done it."

Eyes wide, Ryan whirled on Aziraphale, and where Crowley was surrounded by darkness, Aziraphale glowed with a warm white light. Huh, he thought to himself, he'd never quite believed psychics when they said people had auras, but maybe it's just the supernatural beings?

The angel was approaching him now with raised hands as if trying not to scare a frightened animal, which, Ryan figured glumly, he kind of was. 

“ ’M fine.” He mumbled, then clearing his throat, he tried again, "I can  _ see _ you, like really. You're, um, glowing." Great dialogue skills Bergara, that's exactly how college trained you to communicate intelligently. 

"That’s one of the seers’ basic abilities. I have hopes that you will be able to extend your skills far beyond this, and the more the better. Hell is not a forgiving place." Aziraphale said, shoulders more relaxed than before, straightening out his tartan bowtie,  _ bowtie, _ really? 

"It was quite a light show you put up mate, if Singer's home he's likely on his way out now." Crowley clapped Ryan on the back, and the touch sent a shock through him, tripping the livewire that was his mind with the darkness that brushed against him, though it did not tell him to run. 

The feel of Crowley’s power sent a shiver down his spine when his mind belatedly made the connection with Shane's power, which had left some sort of mark on his memory even with his sight dormant. 

Both were forces of darkness, deft and strong with such great propensity towards evil, yet they _ chose _ not to. Ryan had always felt safer when Shane was with him on investigations, whether his friend was actively riling ghosts up or was simply there, and now he wondered if a part of him had always recognized the power Shane wielded and the intentions behind it.

_ Why him? _ He wondered for the umpteenth time. Why did a demon choose to protect  _ him _ ? What was so  _ special _ about him that stopped Shane from finishing his mission?

He was so lost in thought he didn't notice before the grizzled middle-aged man was on them, the layers of flannel sending a pang through Ryan’s chest. The man cocked a shotgun at Crowley, and the demon, to his credit, only chuckled, seemingly unbothered. 

"Bobby! We just needed your lot to do a wee bit of enlightening. Ryan here's a brand new seer! Ryan, meet the unofficial head of hunters of this continent."

The man huffed, lowering his shotgun as he surveyed the scene, and nodded at Ryan and Aziraphale. "What, you two here to drop him off or somethin’? I'm in the middle of something here."

Crowley's eyebrows furrowed a little, tilting his head like he was listening to whispers in the wind. "Ah, the boys got themselves in quite a bit of trouble again eh? We're heading off anyway. Always nice to see you." He bowed with a flourish, his coattails swishing in a perfect arc before he popped out of existence. The second before he vanished though, Ryan thought he spied dark arches extending from his back that almost looked like wings. 

Aziraphale frowned at where his companion had disappeared, "I am sorry about him Mr. Singer, and I do thank you for the use of your, uh," he floundered for a second as his disagreement with the condition of the lot was displayed clear as day on his face, "yard." he finished, "We do need to be off now, so goodbye."

The angel offered Ryan a hand, and he took it, offering Singer a weak smile that he hoped said clearly that he had not known and was generally not affiliated with the two beings. The man gave a longsuffering sigh and waved them off, there was the same jerking sensation in his arm and Ryan was flying again. 

When he regained his footing, it was in the little living room of his apartment, with a start Ryan realized that the sky outside was dimming to the bloodred of sunset. Had they been gone that long?

Aziraphale stood with him, a crease to his brows as he took in the slight mess. Ryan winced, his apartment hadn't gotten the best treatment in the last couple weeks. It was difficult to bring himself to care about appearances beyond making Obi comfortable.

"May I?" the angel asked, hand half raised. When Ryan nodded in confusion, he snapped his fingers, and his apartment was just  _ updated _ . There was a freshness to everything, the lamps glowed brighter, there were even string lights lining his shelves, and a glint of movement brought his gaze to the sliver he could see of his bathroom, his image staring back at him in the smooth surface of the mirror. 

"A little miracle, as a gift." The angel smiled a little sadly, "You are a good man."

"Oh," Ryan breathed, "Thanks." He really should work on his speaking skills in the presence of cosmic beings more, maybe he could even find a masterclass on it. As to him being ‘good’, he wasn't so sure.

"Rest tonight and get accustomed to your sight. Crowley will come tomorrow and give you more directions on how to use it to your advantage." 

Ryan nodded, and this time he could definitely make out the outlines of lofty pearl white wings extending out and up, before the angel vanished from his room. 

He held out his hands turned them around in the lamp-light. There wasn’t much of a physical difference, he felt calmer, he supposed, now that he knew that he could sense the supernatural if anything decided to try something. It will at least give him more time to prepare to face it, and that’s all he can hope for. Time.

He was running out of it. 

Ryan stood alone in his new and improved apartment and didn't quite know what to do with himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Ryan has the sight and maybe some other powers yet to be discovered! This was a shorter chapter but I felt like I needed to give Ryan some time to process the change on his own.
> 
> For reference, Ryan’s fear of heights is canon and he specifically says so in this video (https://youtu.be/Ev7iTCZ8kl8?t=509), Ryan is also a bit queasy around needles. 
> 
> Please leave a comment to tell me what you thought or just anything at all! Comments make me happy.


	5. Hell Bound

When Crowley pops into his living room the next morning, at the literal break of dawn, Ryan was wide awake. He had tried to sleep, but his mind wasn't able to shut itself down. The stubborn investigative spirit does not let go of an idea once it appears, and while that had helped him power through researching cases for unsolved late into the night, now it was urging him to test out his sight, to explore this new ability to the greatest extent until only lack of skill barred his path. He had spent all night digging through information on psychics, projection, and even occlumency---that last one was a bit of a stretch, but his strained mind was running out of places to look for answers, and it never hurt to go back to those books.

Crowley wasted no time in pleasantries, his manners brisk and no-nonsense but not wholly without kindness. He explained to Ryan in so many words that after death via demon and his descent to Hell, the key to "not getting noticed and dragged off to the pits" was to use his seer abilities to project and maintain a supernatural, or more specifically, a demonic power around himself.

That all made enough sense to Ryan since the basic idea sounded similar to those movies Shane was always referencing, with its fair share of camouflage and spy stuff. But projecting his 90% human soul to extend from his physical body was... strenuous.

On his eleventh try, he gritted his teeth against the effort of holding the light around him, it didn't feel unnatural per se, but it gave him a headache to have his soul or essence stretched out like this like a freaky halo. He held on, picturing climbing up and up on a cliff until he finally reached the summit, a pit yawning in front of him stretching down into the abyss.

"Our souls are antithetical," Crowley had said, so it wouldn't be easy for Ryan to twist his to look like a demon's, to turn light into darkness. Or, it shouldn't be.

Ryan let go and leapt into the abyss, teeming with the darkest places in his mind.

He thought about the information on demons he had gathered from researching for past videos, thought of the pain, misery, and anger that must have filled the beings to turn them into the dark cruel creatures. Then he pictured himself among them, using the Ricky Goldsworth personality as a line to hold onto, and he embraced the fear, hurt and bitterness he still carried with him, picturing himself becoming those emotions. He didn't need to see to know that the light around was him dimming, yet still maintaining the outline of energy that radiated around him in a murky grey aura.

As quickly as the change had taken place, his hold on his power slipped away, and Ryan dropped to the floor, hunching over and breathing hard, fighting against the feeling of a great weight bearing down on his body, not giving him space to draw in air.

Crowley was more subdued after that, mostly keeping quiet and studying Ryan like he was a lab experiment gone beautifully wrong. Once he got used to the reverse pressure of projecting, focusing on moving his power around to protect himself came easier. It took another six days for Crowley and Aziraphale to deem him passable for a regular demon with sufficient self-defenses.

It was somehow not a shock for Ryan to fully come into his powers, and there was also the added bonus of knowing that he was right. All those times he had had bad hunches about an investigation site was just his ability coming out of sleep mode to help him not die.

Those powers also provided a handy and sensical reason for the tension and uneasiness between Shane and him when they were still in the early stages of friendship. He had felt tingles down his back almost exclusively when Shane was around, before Ryan had been won over by the gangly man's quirky humor and kind nature. 

Every time a success made him briefly forget the circumstances for which he was training, he would be hit by urges to show Shane his power, rubbing the phenomenon in Shane's face for all the shit he gave Ryan for his belief in the supernatural. But then he would remember where Shane was, and he would remember Crowley’s tip.

They held him down while they bound him to the wall, cold steel circling his wrists and tightening past the point of pain. He thrashed, pushing against the claws and the chains, not slowing even when a glinting dark blade was pressed to his throat. A trickle of blood ran down his neck from where the sword sliced his flesh, and he hissed at the dreaded but familiar pain. He needed to get to Ryan, to make sure he wasn’t down here. He can't be---

"Are you so desperate to die Shemodai?" _Mastema_.

Shane stilled at the voice. He didn't need to lose more ground by putting his more of his insubordination on display, his body already took enough damage from the box and the rough fall down. He knew how he was expected to act, especially when _he_ was around.

Shane schooled his features to blank and bowed his head in the direction of the voice, unable to stop the shudder that went through his body. "Master." he breathed, showing subjugation only with his body since his power had burnt away. With an effort, he drew out his wings and letting them stretch downcast against the wall, the smoky tips trailing the hard floor. Shane hated baring his wings like this, unguarded, exposing the vulnerable bit of his soul, yet it was what was expected. The demon had always taken a special interest in him, had gone to the lengths to pluck him out of the masses to train and enhance his existing abilities, centuries ago. Shane could only hope that interest wouldn't turn on him now.

"So you haven't forgotten your manners, the same could not be said for your ability to follow orders, can it?"

The blade left his throat momentarily to lick up the blood trailing down into his collar, and he could feel the cold metal hum. A dirty trick, to use his own blade against him. He kept his voice low, respectful, but a little desperation sneaked in all the same, "Please master. My fealty remains for Hell."

"Does it now? I seem to have gotten the impression that you have been delaying the death of a certain seer. Displaying emotions, healing even." The voice was light, disinterested, but Shane knew how much violence and cruelty hid behind that wicked smiling face. He had seen it turned on others before him, had even helped in the punishments and executions. He knew this was coming for him ever since he decided to risk disobedience for Ryan, but he had always held on to the naive hope that their time would last a little longer before it came to this. The polished toe of a black Oxford sauntered into his vision, and Shane folded into himself slightly, shoulders burning at the strain.

"I determined it best to bide my time, with that one." It made his stomach twist to refer to Ryan like that, diminishing such a bright presence into a number on a chart, "There was an outside force intervening. Sir." He added, easily melting back to his strange formality He preferred when being addressed, the words were familiar from his time before undertaking this mission but his chest felt hollow as he spoke them.

"Oh, I'm sure there was, that's why we sent you, one of our best soldiers," he let the words hang, laden with disappointment, and the shoes halted before Shane. "Your best wasn't good enough."

Fingers cold as ice clenched Shane's chin, forcing his face up to look at the gaunt face and the voids of the demon's eyes. "Time for you to choose the right side, Shemodai"

"I have!" Shane insisted, pouring the emotions he had learned to imitate so well into his words. If he can get out of here, he can find out where Ryan was, whisk him away if he must keep him safe. "Master let me return to finish the job, I can--" But the demon was already gone.

Ice struck his abdomen before he can breathe his relief at the absence, shocking a cry from him. He looked down to see his blade's hilt protruding there, crimson blood leaking from the wound and through the denim he still wore. The tip must have gone into the wall, pinning his body against it like a bug on display.

"Don't worry, we took care of your job," Balthazar smirked in his ear. "We tore him apart, your little seer, and you know what he did? He _prayed_ that he’d never met you.”

"You're lying." Shane grit out through his teeth, tasting metal at the back of his throat. "You can't get to him." He had taken measures, friends will come through to help keep Ryan safe, even if the man hates him now, that part of the demon’s little victory speech might as well be true. "You’ll never get a confession from me. I think sometimes you forget that I am one of hell's best."

He tries for a grin, but it falters slightly as Balthazar pulls out the sword strapped across his back with a metallic whine and twirls it in his hand, the hulking shadow of his power looming behind him, hungry for blood and pain.

"Well, so am I."

Ryan jerks awake, hands scrabbling at the phantom pain in his abdomen, finding only the angry red marks of the shrapnel blast. He curls into himself on the couch, and for a moment he just sits with his head buried on one knee and breathes. He shakes then, ears echoing with screams that he can't block out.

The night came a week later with Ryan and Crowley standing in a deserted building site at the outskirts of LA, where the demon and Aziraphale would be waiting by the intricate runes he had drawn with Ryan's blood, if he returned.

They hadn't dared let the angel near the site, Crowley being controversial as he was downstairs was more than enough attention they needed to draw to themselves without a heavenly being within the vicinity. Hell might refuse to take Ryan that way.

They had driven here in Crowley's Bentley, the sleek black vehicle swiftly traversing through Los Angeles. The city was shining bright in the distance, but the hustle and bustle of life did not reach them here. Taking a deep breath, Ryan stepped to the center of the markings, where a blank circle of concrete had been left.

From outside the perimeter, the demon watched him carefully, drawing his blade from its holster inside his black blazer, a double-edged dagger whose dark grey color thinned into pearly white at the edges, a good fit for the demon’s dual tendencies.

They had not spent long discussing the method of Ryan’s death per his own request, because there was no real point in it. He supposed it should be innocent enough that, should he not succeed, his family won’t be in too much pain, but it was really just a means to an end. 

Obi had understood, had been melancholy that last day, taking every chance to curl up and nestle against Ryan as if to soak up his presence before it was too late. Give it to Shane to raise a smart as fuck pet. At least the little furball will be safe with the angel. Ryan nodded at Crowley, the thin man’s face grim.

“Only as a last resort.” He said by way of a goodbye, not dropping his gaze until Ryan nodded in confirmation. The demon tipped his head almost in salute. He drew his hand back, and with a whip of his wrist the dagger flew for Ryan, avoiding his ribs to strike at his heart.

The impact felt like a shove to the chest with how sharp the blade was, pain rocketing from the site after a split second to bombard Ryan’s mind. He was losing blood fast, growing lightheaded as he wobbled on his feet, the dagger drinking up his life force to give Crowley an extra boost should anyone try to tamper with the markings in the meantime. He let his body react to the pain and the crippling of his most important organ, focusing his mind on gathering the powers he had been honing for the past week, drawing it into his mind at one shining spot. When his legs gave out and his body slumped forward, inching towards total shutdown, Ryan’s soul dimmed its brightness, darkening until it was just another piece of the night, then he began his descent way down below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Mastema originates from the Book of Jubilees as an angel who persecutes evil and is thought to be similar to Satan. The character is not quite so high ranking here but still pretty high on the food chain. 
> 
> The next chapter is halfway done, these two took a bit more time cause the plotline was a hot mess, and I have great thanks to my friend who I talked at for at least 4 hours throughout the creation of this fic.


	6. where the stars do not shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for physical violence, it makes me sad too but it's necessary for the story

It was like those hours after the incident again, everything was murky. Ryan concentrated on keeping the darkness at the forefront of his mind as he plummeted further and further, the pressure growing around him as if he was plunging in deep water. Bits of darkness whisked past him, and even without a physical body, Ryan shuddered at the brief moments of proximity within the evil of those beings.

Thanks to the little training he’s had, he’s been able to control his thoughts more, but there was still a small voice in the back of his head that used to have severe anxiety attacks every time they did supernatural investigations, keeping up a steady chant of shit shit _shit_ that really wasn’t helping the situation. Luckily Ryan was pretty good at ignoring the voice, the ability was basically the prerequisite for his job.

After what felt like a minute, Ryan gently nudged a memory to nestle in the darkness around him. It was Shane sauntering about on Old Alton Bridge shouting profanities at Goatman, claiming the bridge for him and Ryan. It was the moment Ryan had given in and joined the big idiot in what he had thought as a game, though he hadn’t missed the dark glint in the taller man’s smiling eyes, the dark reds and blues of his flannel stark against the bright flashlight whiteness on his face. Ryan wrapped his darkened soul protectively around the memory that was so Shane, letting it guide him through the obscurity, mind straining.

A figure was standing ahead facing out into the black void.

The thumping in Ryan’s chest was the first thing he registered, then slowly the senses trickled out from that point until his soul took the form of his physical body. It took a moment, or maybe it was an hour, for him to adjust to the shift, his hands flexing slightly to feel the not-air of the blackness around him. He began to wade towards the form he remembered from every day at work, from all their ghostly investigations and movie nights with popcorn. The figure's shoulders were hunched, head lowered, and his hands were just hanging by his side limply. An empty shell to what Shane used to be, alive, moving.

Ryan made no sound, none that he could hear anyway, but dread jolted through him as Shane's form straightened with a jerk, and froze again with an inhuman stillness, as if someone had abruptly yanked taut the tethers on his limbs. Then he was facing Ryan, the motion so swift Ryan's eyes failed to follow it. 

There was a faint smile on Shane's face, only a slight quirk of the corners of his mouth, and his gaze swept around the room languidly. And indeed, it was a room the shadows had condensed into around them, a wispy wall and floor now stood while the void still loomed behind and above. 

The shift in space thrust vertigo into Ryan's gut, and he doubled over, his vision swimming with an alarming intensity. He flung out a hand to brace himself but his hand found no purchase in the emptiness. He was beginning to miss the minutes of being a spirit, with how uncooperative and weak his soul body felt.

Blinking hard, he tried to clear the ripples from his sight. His movement was sluggish, each blinking thrusting him back into darkness that lasted for eternity.

Open, close.

He still faced the materializing floor, bare concrete caked with grime, like so many of the abandoned haunts he had visited.

Open, close.

Boots were there. Brown boots, identical to the pair he had worn on his last day to keep with him some physical semblance of what lay between him and Shane, in a desperate hope that they might guide him to his friend. 

He dragged himself upright slowly, half clutching at his midsection to quiet the churning at the sheer wrongness of this picture. The boots, chinos, and the button-up shirt were so close to Shane, so close, but not. 

Staring at the figure that stood towering over him, Ryan couldn’t suppress the shudder running down his spine. Shane always kind of towered over him whenever they stood close enough, but it had never felt like the older man was capitalizing on the difference to set the dynamic between them. To make Ryan feel _small_. Now, with black nothingness swirling around them, Shane exuded a quiet menace that fit awkwardly within the shape of the person Ryan had known for years. 

"Shane. It's me." He said, the words catching a bit in his throat, but somehow did not break like he felt he was about to, right now. He dared to let the darkness around him melt away to reveal the light within. Surely Shane will recognize it? Ryan’s eyes were damp, and he stared into the man’s face, searching for his friend, was there any part of him still left? He had been so, so late. 

In the corners of his vision not filled up by Shane, Ryan glimpsed eyes, dozens of them, each darker than the void that surrounded them, drawn to the light. He could feel the strength of the beings behind them, and he knew that if they wished to, he wouldn't be able to stop them from ripping him apart in whichever way they chose. But Ryan didn't care about them. 

No. 

He had read somewhere that a person faking an emotion would mostly use their mouth to express, and their true feelings would be revealed in their eyes. 

The thing that sent fear, sharper than anything Ryan had felt in his life, spiking into the core of his soul, is that Shane's smile _did_ reach his eyes, small as it was. He didn’t even have his whole black pupils. Those warm brown eyes that had only gazed upon Ryan with kindness, mirth, and mischief now shone with a cold delight.

"Shane?" his uncertainty bled into the name, eating away at the edges until only the barebone of emotion remained. He reached out a trembling hand and laid it over the man's chest, right over where Shane's heart would be beating steadily, as it did always, even on the creepiest shoots. His hand made contact, the torso solid with warmth bleeding through to his fingers, unlike everything else here.

But it was such a hollow relief he felt, when moments, seconds ticked by and no movement stirred beneath his fingers. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn't take his hand back to save his life, he was just frozen. 

"You shouldn't have come here." Shane's smile gave his words uplifted edges, a hand rising to rest atop Ryan's gently, long familiar fingers grasping his own. If Ryan closed his eyes, he could almost imagine they were back in LA or just on another investigation, his friend giving him some vestige of comfort in the midst of his fright. "I told you to forget me." Shane said quietly, and the hand twisted outwards with Ryan's in-tow. He heard the snap before pain burst up his arm, a scream tearing from his throat as Shane pushed his arm back at Ryan, the agonizing pressure forcing him to his knees.

Shane's fingers still encircled his wrist, the grip looking almost gentle, but Ryan could not pull it back. "I couldn't leave you here," he said through clenched teeth, eyes watering uncontrollably with the pain still radiating from his distorted hand. 

"I am here _because_ of you." The smile was gone now, Ryan could hear it vanishing, frigid rage filling its place. "Do you know what they did to me, after I tried to heal you?" Shane's shoulders twitched, bits of flannel smoldering and flaking away, revealing torn and burnt muscle. Ragged obsidian wings arched out from his back, only they were shuddering, twisted, bending in unnatural angles. Sorrow hit Ryan like a physical thing and took his breath away, the mutilation of something once beautiful and awe-inspiring constricting his chest painfully. They were so different from the graceful spans he had seen on Crowley. 

"You did this to me. I could have just fucking killed you and finished the job, higher power or no, at least I wouldn't be here. Dragged back by the neck, disgraced, reprogrammed. All because I had gone soft, over a _human_." Shane spat out the word, lip curling in disgust as those brown eyes burned into Ryan with more intensity than his obsidian ones ever could. For they held pain and hurt right along with the venom, dealing doubled blows to Ryan's heart. 

Shadows danced on Shane’s face, burrowing into the space under his brows and the hollows under his cheeks until his face was little more than paper on bone.

"I'm sorry." Ryan breathed, forcing himself to look at the destruction dealt to those once powerful wings. His fault. "You're right," Ryan swallowed hard, lifting his eyes to Shane's face, willing his own regret and agony to show through, for his friend to understand. “It’s not too late, you can still come back from this.” Words spilled out, begging now. It didn’t come naturally to Ryan, but this was _Shane_ so he was going to make an effort, damn it. “Please, Shane—"

“Stop calling me that.” He snapped, and there it was, a crack in the man’s voice, just a hint of the vulnerability that Ryan had not cherished nearly enough. 

“That’s not my name. That life—” his voice was raw, shaking just a little, and Ryan’s heart clenched as Shane squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head as if to steady himself. “It was just a trick, a magic trick. To lure you in so I could get the job done.” His voice hardened, and when he met Ryan’s eyes again, his face was tight, unforgiving. 

Ryan didn’t have anywhere to hide when the taller figure delivered two vicious kicks to his chest, solar-plexus probably, and a spot above it-- liver? He crumpled, curling in on himself as much as the grip on his wrist allowed. He had no air, and he’d had enough injuries playing basketball to know at least one rib was cracked.

After a few agonizing seconds, he finally managed to draw in a rattling breath. Every little movement hurt, fuck, it even hurt to think. With a grunt, he wrestled his head back past his shoulder and let it hang there, heavy-lidded eyes struggling to focus. 

"Shane, please,” He wheezed, “Come back to me.” the words were barely broken whispers, but Shane could hear him just fine. 

The demon chuckled, the wry grin on its face a cruel facsimile of what his friend used to so generously display. "I don't think so." A pause, and when he spoke, the words were void of any emotion, just syllables strung together. "Actually, I might as well finish the job now that you’re here."

Dark power lashed for him, frayed around the edges but fierce and razor-sharp nonetheless. The bottom dropped out of Ryan's stomach and he felt despair digging its claws deeper into his mind. Throwing up his good hand, he rapidly siphoned the energy from his soul and concentrated it on pushing back against the darkness. 

Trapping a spike within his light, he did not dare hesitate before he gritted his teeth, squeezed and squeezed until it shattered, drawing a roar of pain from the demon. A blast struck his exposed back then, and he lost focus. Soon blows were raining down on him, his power too scattered to defend himself against it. In the scuffle, he had yanked back his twisted hand, and he held them up, a last line of defense. He was dimly aware of the blood pouring from gaping wounds, the demon's snarls and a dull roar filling his ears.

"I'm sorry." Ryan choked out through the pain clogging his mind, "I'm here, Shane, I won't leave y—" His voice broke, cut off by the vise that was suddenly gripping his throat, slamming him half slumped against a wall, Shane's long fingers slick with blood. _It’s okay_, Ryan's lips formed the words, _I'm right here with you, until the end._ His own hands clung onto Shane's bony wrist, broken fingers prying out a futile struggle, then he was just holding on for the sake of it, the little bit of physical touch to root him to the priceless handful of years he had gotten with his friend, far away from this dark, evil place. 

"I don't need your forgiveness,” the demon, no, _no_, _Shane_, hissed. His dark power pressed down onto Ryan, and he whimpered from the pressure on his wounds. “Just your damnation."

It was a foolish venture anyway, a reckless hope. A mere human, no matter what supernatural powers he had, was no match for the forces of hell, no match for what they had done to break his friend. There was no help for them here, Crowley, Aziraphale, and the damn higher power the demon spoke of, none would come now. He was in far too deep. 

Might as well go all the way.

Ryan kept his eyes open against the burn, tears streaking down his face, even as the broken thing his friend had become sneered down at him, even as blackness began encroaching into his vision. He had only seconds left. _Only as a last resort_, Crowley had said. Now this was it. Ryan had given his all, there was only one thing left.

_I'm sorry._ He thought, lips too heavy to move. I'm sorry you were alone, all this time. 

Then he offered up what remained of his soul, battered and bleeding as it was. He offered it to Shane alone, not heaven or hell or the eyes watching from the void around them. He wished Shane to take it, so the humanity within might allow him to find his way back to himself, to what he had found and experienced for a few brief years. So he might have even the slightest chance to fight once Ryan was gone, so he can survive.

It almost didn’t hurt.


	7. We'll Make it to the Other Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been procrastinating on this chapter for so long, and I think the Watcher trailer is what finally jump-started the process. Also I changed the title of the work cause I felt 'The Offering' only suited the first few chapters, and we've gone way beyond that, I hope it's cooler now. 
> 
> This chapter was betaed by the lovely [SolStudio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolStudio) who helped a ton in maintaining my sanity for the ending, go check out her work too <3
> 
> Thank you so much for waiting, and I hope you like this :)

Shemodai was used to seeing strange things. As a centuries-old demon, he has seen most of the outré and grotesque happenings cooked up by heaven, hell, or sometimes, just by plain old humans. He has seen souls bleed, seen them twist and splinter into nothingness or something darker, like himself. But he hasn't seen this. 

The soul in front of him had been speaking, its glowing form flickering as it shook and tried to fight back. It hadn't been strong enough to match his power, though it did take more effort than he had anticipated to finally pin the thing down to the floor that had appeared as their arena. He spoke, but he barely registered the words, letting his instincts take over, they were his most valuable qualities as an asset after all. 

Eyes watched him from the darkness but he knew better than to lose his focus. This was a test for him, that much was clear, though the interest his keepers were taking in this match indicated that there was something about this one that differed from the countless souls they had thrown at him in his re-training. He needed it, he had lost his touch, they told him, and he believed them.  _ Incapacitated. _ He needed to prove himself to get that damn brand off his soul, and if it meant going through the motions of destroying souls for the service of Hell a hundred million times then he would do it. 

The soul had stopped fighting then, weakening as he tightened his grip on its throat, his dark power encircling its form in preparation for the killing blow. Something about the pathetic way its hands clung to his wrist caused something to ache in him, but so many parts of him were always raw and broken that he could hardly distinguish this new sensation from the cacophony of others. 

He looked down at the soul, so small under him, and was just in time to catch the wisp of a thought that rose up to meet his snarling face:  _ I'm sorry you were alone, all this time. _ It was entirely nonsensical. He didn't know any soul well enough for them to care like this. His grip did not loosen, and as the soul closed its eyes, tears streaking down its face--

It dissolved. 

Not broke, or shattered, but melted into a warm gold  _ light _ brighter than he had ever seen. He felt the watchers stir at the new development, displeasure rising like a tidal wave that would eventually cut down on him. No nono he can't fail now. He didn't have many chances left. Frantically, he made to grab the light with his power, to snuff out the brightness with his night. 

The gold struck him in the chest, quick as a flash, and he was knocked back onto his heels, and he crouched there on the cold floor, frozen. The light didn't stop there, it spread inside him like fire, white-hot flames licking along his ripped and battered soul, burning along the lines of his wings. 

Suddenly he was yanked off the surface and into space, wings caught in a powerful gust. His  _ wings _ . Wings that had always been pitch black since the day he had been given them, now tipped with gold, the same golden light that the soul had melted into. Wings that were no longer broken. 

Ryan. 

He remembered. 

He remembered so clearly now, what had happened that night, and what had happened just now, what he had said, what he had just  _ done _ \--

_ I've got you big guy _

He choked out a sob, eyes stinging with tears he thought he was no longer capable of spilling. It was Ryan's voice in his head, and a brush of warmth against his mind, singing of the playful joy his mortal friend had been so generous in spreading. He could almost see his face, shining with a smile unburdened by true fear, both of them messing around during work and life to the half-hearted dismay of coworkers and friends. He remembered the fierceness in Ryan's eyes when they debated about the supernatural, and how he spoke past the shake in his voice when he stepped forward to face the demon together. Ryan was so brave. And he was gone. 

_ Stop moping and get us out of here you idiot.  _

The darkness pounced on him, a black wave full of sharp lines made and trained to tear and kill. 

Shane looked up, and saw in the abyss, a circle of runes, far far away, but waiting and beckoning. 

_ Go. _ The light urged. 

Shane lept, spreading his wings and kicking down as hard as he could even as the darkness reclaimed the floor beneath him. He threw up a shield beneath him against the pursuing force, and he saw that his power now streaked with gold, the light spiderwebbing through the obsidian to fill the cracks the demons had torn into it, their paradoxical existence giving it fresh life.

Amidst the obscurity he passed, Shane glimpsed scene after scene of horror and pain forced upon the poor creatures that had ended up down here. His wings faltered for a second too long, and the shadows were on him, reaching to rip at him until he fell, just like he did, so many years ago. 

He won't let that happen again, not after all that Ryan had sacrificed just to give him a chance out of this evil place, to fight his way back to the world. 

His wings beat the not-air, Shane clenched his fists and drew in the edges of his power to wrap tightly around the swirl of light within him, the surge of heat so strong it burned his hands. 

"Hey you demon fucks!" Shane screamed at the teeming darkness, his teeth bared. His cheeks were still wet, and new tears leaked out at the familiar phrase he had tossed out so flippantly on Old Alton Bridge. Ryan would have laughed. 

Shane cracked a sharp smile himself, blinking his eyes clear. His fists were glowing gold now, shaking with the effort at containing the bright energy. 

"You wanna see a show? I got a show for ya."

Shane reached out his hands in the dark, and struck. With calculated accuracy, he sent blasts of this new power shooting towards the demons, watching as they tried to run, to hide, only to shatter under the barrage of gold-laced obsidian. With each destruction, the light within him grew, as if the ether itself was letting out a sigh in relief at the justice finally dealt to the evil that had caused the suffering of so many. 

Then there was that shadow amongst the chaos, looming into Shane's view from deep down below. Mastema. Shane tensed, and he supposes he always will tense in the presence of  _ him, _ it was a deeply driven instinct that he did not want to lose. 

“That's quite enough now, Shemodai, time to heel.” The demon's cool voice sounded clipped, tight. 

Shane stood his ground, riding high on the victory over his former comrades, he lifted his head and looked at the entity that had hung above his existence since it had picked him out from all the damned souls in hell. When he spoke his voice was strong, sure. 

"You saw my potential, and you were right. I’m a monster, and you made me into one of the dangerous ones." 

Shane did not risk waiting for a reaction, he lunged, a spike of power ready in his hands as he thrust the scorching force deep into the demon's chest, right where the center of his heinous essence gathered, darkness recoiling and sizzling in contact with Shane's light-speckled power. 

"I don't serve you anymore," He hissed, pouring more than two centuries of fear and hatred into the words, and twisted his hands, drawing an ear-splitting sound from the demon. It wouldn't be enough to kill it, and he had never felt so murderous as he did now. " _ Master. _ " He spit out. 

As Shane drew his arms with a vicious jerk, he found in his hands a sleek black sword streaked with gold. And a little thing, it was wreathed in flames. 

Shane's eyes widened, and he spared a glance at Mastema to find the demon gone. This was good. As to the new weapon, well, he'll deal with that later, once he can be sure that they are both safe. 

He whipped around to face the remainder of the cavalry sent after him, wings holding him upright with powerful beats, he swung his sword in a wide arc, and his voice rang out in the sudden silence, "This is your warning. Do not follow."

Then he flew, up and up towards that faint ring of runes that waited, and if he spent the few seconds it took to cut down the few that dared trail him, all the better to set an example. 

Do not be afraid. 

Do  _ not _ be afraid. 

He will  _ not _ be afraid. 

Not anymore. 

  
  
  
  
  


Shane burst through the glistening runes into the watery rays of the rising sun, shooting up a couple of floors into the free air in his haste. The chill in the air soothed the burns that still peppered his skin. 

Pulling in a deep breath, his wings flared out at his back to make for a swift glide back to the dusty concrete, all the time trying to prepare himself for what he knows he will see. 

But it still makes him lose his breath when he saw the body lying in the center of the runes. 

Crowley stood to the side with the angel, both watching him with relief written on their faces, but they didn't move to approach him. Those two have always been wise, it was why he had dared to approach them after he ran into the hiccup in his mission. 

But not wise enough, to not discourage his friend from taking such a big risk with his life. 

Pale and thin, Ryan was so small within the bloody sprawl of runes around him. With the dark shadows under his closed eyes and a dagger embedded in his chest, he looked almost like one of the murder victims from the photos Ryan sometimes showed Shane when they did True Crime. 

It was true. And Shane was the self-confessing suspect. 

He knelt within the bare circle within the symbols, still thrumming with the strange new power, a roaring in his ears building and building until it was all he could hear. He needed to fix this. He needed at least to try. 

The sword hummed in his hand, the flames now down to a simmering glow around the gold-flecked obsidian. 

Shane acted on instinct, fuck the demons, but it was one of his best qualities. 

A moment passed, and he was gripping Ryan's hand between his own, pressing matching cuts on their palms together, the sword glimmering across Ryan's chest where Shane had laid it.

"Come back to me," He let his head fall until his forehead rested against the smaller man's cold knuckles. "Come on Ry, you did it once, you found me. Just come back again, please."

His voice was low, and he was having trouble getting the words out past the sobs that fought to surface. His wings came down to curl around then both in some parody of privacy, the gold in them shining like shadows of the stars fading into the sun. They fought against innumerable odds and got out of  _ Hell _ with no pursuers in sight, but what was the point, if he was alone? He just wanted to kneel here and cry and cry, because the universe had lost a bright soul for his, and it wasn't even a fair trade.

_ Please _ , he prays. The words were foreign on his tongue, he’d lost faith so long ago.  _ Please, wherever you are, you watched over him, now do your fucking job.  _

One more miracle. Just the one, and he’ll accept whatever comes after. 

He held onto Ryan’s voice, his smile, the moments they had shared in those wondrous few years.

He couldn’t go through this again. 

If Ryan is gone, he might just tear the world apart. 

"What’re you cookin’ up in there?”

Shane started as he heard the voice, not in his head this time, but right in front of him. His eyes shot open and he stared at Ryan. Ryan, eyes open, smiling, _ alive. _

Shane surged forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller man's shoulders with a broken  _ oh thank god _ on his lips, half sobbing into the collar of Ryan's jean jacket. He's back. Ryan's back.

"You miss me that much huh?" Ryan's voice was still weak from blood loss and weeks and weeks of not treating himself properly, but Shane felt the chuckle and cough vibrate through his chest. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling back a little to tentatively feel out the wound on the smaller man’s chest, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Good as new.” Ryan flashed him a small grin, and Shane’s heart clenched at the sight of his teeth still tinged red with his blood. 

“I’m going to yell at you so much,” his vision was getting blotchy at the edges, giving him a sort of fishbowl view of Ryan’s pale face. “You died, Ry, what were you thinking?”

A slightly shaking hand came up to grip the tattered collar of his shirt, and then Ryan was pressing his lips against Shane’s. The kiss was soft and hesitant, the cuts on their lips scratching out little pricks of pain, but it was the most perfect thing Shane had ever felt. He let Ryan pull him down, his hand moving to cushion the smaller man’s back from the cold concrete.

“I was thinking about you, idiot,” Ryan was smiling, and the color was finally returning to his face, “Besides, how else was I going to make you pay for giving me so much shit for believing?”

“Are you now?” Shane has given up on clearing his vision, and he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, because there was light in Ryan’s eyes again, and he will be damned if he allows that gleam to go dark, ever again.

“Oh, just you wait Madej. You won’t even see me coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaah I listened to 'Don't Give up On Me' by Andy Grammer on repeat when I wrote this, at which point I changed the name of the story as a whole, that song just made me so happy and sad and have so many feels I wanted to thank it for helping me make this chapter. 
> 
> Please let me know what ya'll think, comments give me so much motivation to work on my WIPs. It is also the first time that I have written romance ever, so please let me know if it sounds okay. 
> 
> I feel that it is important to say that if you don't ship Shyan and do not like reading fics about the ship I do sincerely apologize for taking your time. To be honest I was torn between the two possibilites literally until writing this chapter, which is why before then this fic was not tagged Ryan/Shane
> 
> That being said, we'll almost at the end folks! Thanks for reading <3


	8. Dice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end folks, this chapter contains the fluff and healing I promised. 
> 
> Also if you've been following this fic for a while, I recently went back to revise the beginning chapters and made non-plot-centric changes in Chapter 3 that adds Shane's cat Obi into the story, so if you would like to get context please go check that out and tell me what you think!
> 
> A huge thank you to Solstudio for the sanity check and all the wonderful people who commented and left kudos over the course of this fic, sorry the last chapter took so long. I love all of you dearly <3

They get out of there reasonably fast, after both of them gingerly untangled themselves enough to fall into the Bentley, the angel flying them all to that same car lot, right in front of the worn-looking house. Aziraphale must have sent off some sort of notice since the man—Mr. Singer —wasn't particularly surprised to see them materialize on his porch. 

In they went, Ryan keeping an arm around Shane's waist to keep him steady, and he, in turn, received a shadowy wing curled around his shoulders. A wave of aches was starting to make their home in Ryan’s body, and based on what he remembered, it seemed the blows on his soul do in fact carry over. The pain and exhaustion were growing with each step, but it was nothing compared to Shane's. 

With the way the man was leaning into him, their flight had taken more out of Shane than he would admit, and Ryan's chest tightened at how much Shane had done for him, how much he cared. 

They were bustled in and down into the basement, whereupon the grizzled man pulled out keys and made to unlock what Ryan had thought was part of the wall. 

"Stay in here, this should keep the demons off your back for the time being." He grunted and pushed open the heavy wrought iron door to reveal a circular room covered with more runes than Ryan can count. 

Distantly, Ryan wondered how much you'd need to go through before you built a demon proof room, and how he could manage to make one himself on the expensive LA landscape.

"Mr. Singer-" Shane started.

"Bobby's fine." 

Shane nodded solemnly, "Thank you, for taking us in."

"Just doin' what I can." There was concern written all over the man's face, and Ryan saw his eyebrows lift as Shane stepped across the threshold of the warded room, right over a cement colored doormat. 

They sat close together on the narrow bed at the side of the room, sunlight throwing shadows across the floor through the fan in the ceiling. Bobby was returning from his third book trip upstairs, laying down the thick tomes on the table and joining the angel in leafing through the browning pages, while Crowley lounged just outside the door. 

It was peaceful, he supposed. But everyone here was so damn tall, it really wasn't fair. 

It made Ryan feel like a kid called to the principal's office, huddling together on hard office chairs with his fellow mischief-maker to await judgment. He was jittery with leftover nerves, and soon Shane's hand found his, fingertip tracing small circles while the man smiled softly at him. 

The center of Shane's attention was a nice place to be, Ryan decided, and he never wanted to let it go. 

"These aren't accurate," Aziraphale said, wrinkling his nose at a particular depiction on the page, "None of these are really, human prophets and seers can only do so much to record what they know."

The extensive if unkempt library that the old hunter possessed was the other reason they had come, but it seemed their luck was running a little slim. 

"I've never heard of anything like this happening, but then again they never let me near the top-tier information," Shane grimaced. He still glowed with the power and joy, but worry tinged his words, "but it's permanent right? We're both here to stay?"

"We don't know." Crowley's hands were gripped tight on his crossed arms.

Shane sighed, wincing when he reached out to put an arm around Ryan's shoulders, "Fuck, they really knew what they were doing down there."

Ryan straightened, suddenly alert, startling Shane enough to pull his arm back. Ryan shuffled until he got some distance to face him fully, scanning Shane's body almost frantically. The burns, the deep jagged cuts were still there, peeking around the torn edges of his flannel.

"Shouldn't they be healing by now?" His hand hovered over a gash in Shane's shirt, straining to soothe but too scared he’ll just make it worse. Crimson was steadily leaking from the wound, darkening the fabric around it.

"There are, ways to fuck with my healing system, it was their little revenge scheme." Shane looked down at his bloodied hands in his lap, face tightening with something like guilt, "They used my blade so it would take me longer to recover from the damage. It's why we always keep our own weapons near, they can just as easily strip us of power as they give it to us."

"Then at least let me clean them. If they get infected it will just be harder on you."

"Ryan you just came back from the literal dead—"

"Shane look at me," when he didn't Ryan reached out and gently tilted his face towards his own, "You got me back. I'm right here, see?"

Shane still wasn't meeting his eyes, shoulders hunched and hands clutching at each other nervously. So Ryan pulled him in until their foreheads were touching, until there was nowhere else for his gaze to run. It was dizzying to look with so little distance between them, but Ryan needed to drive his point home.

"I won't break big guy." 

He waited and watched, until Shane gave the barest of nods against his, breathing in and out, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away, "Okay." He said, and Ryan smiled.

Ryan had expected the worst when he helped Shane shrug out of his shirt, the man gritting his teeth when the movement pulled on the wounds. Some looked better in the full light, while the extent of others was thrown into sharp relief, along with scars. 

There were so  _ many _ of them, shiny patches and angry raised lines on pale skin, those on his back twisting and curving in a mocking depiction of wings. For a second he just stood there, the blood-crusted shirt in his hand.

"Yeah," Shane's voice was low, "I—I didn't want you to see that."

"I was going to, sooner or later." That had Shane looking up at him, and Ryan carefully kept his face open, promising. They would have to talk about all this, about them, the two of them as one, but right now they both need some time, "Just let me help you."

And so Ryan set to work, Bobby lending a hand with the stitches from time to time. Ryan had almost no medical experience, and thus was justly proud as he smoothed a roll of bandages across Shane's chest to cover an especially nasty cut. 

The others were still there, pouring over what remained of the hunter's books and discussing the possibilities. 

"It's truly an impossible piece," Aziraphale mused, holding up the long obsidian blade so the gold twinkled in the morning light, "Shaped from your joint powers, yes, it must be."

"And yet," Crowley was peering at the weapon from outside the door, tinted glasses slid down to show his yellow pupils, "Ryan is still a certifiable seer, not to mention alive. I'd think something like this would drain anyone dry."

"Perhaps it's the sacrifice," the angel said, giving the demon a hard look which produced no visible effect, "it would have forged a bond of sorts, helping to restore his soul to his body." 

"There's something else," Crowley's attention was fastened on Ryan now, gaze sharp but not cruel, "Since he's not quite human anymore, is he?"

Ryan's head jerked up, the cool washcloth in his hands drawing warmth from his fingertips even as they turned cold at the words. Not human? But what else—

"You look... different. Your soul, I mean." It was Shane that spoke, and Ryan turned to see the man's eyes crinkling at the corners, a soft tilt to his mouth, "You kind of have a halo now Ry."

"I—what?" Ryan stammered a little, cause it's ridiculous. Even Aziraphale didn't have a halo, not in the traditional sense of a glowing frisbee above his head anyway. Ryan didn't think he would really be surprised if the angel's halo would spontaneously combust everyone if he really showed it, but Shane was still smiling, so it can't be that bad.

"But I still feel pretty normal." Ryan said, placing the washcloth back into a bowl and picking up a roll of bandages to wrap around the stitched cut on Shane's thigh. Most of the injuries still weren't healing, but at least the broken bits of glass, metal and whatever those fuckers put in his wounds were out. His hands were holding much more steadily than he felt.

"Look, I hate to suggest this," Bobby said, raising a hand in a half-placating gesture, "But since we have an angel on call, the quickest way to know is to give Ryan an injury and see what happens with his recovery rate—"

"No." Shane cut in before Ryan could even consider trying it, voice hard and body stiffening under Ryan's hands. The smaller man felt more than saw his wings rear up until they almost brushed the ceiling of the panic room, Shane trembling slightly at the effort. The air was suddenly incredibly still, even the fan seemed unable to move. "That's out of the question."

"Just one of the options son. Un-puff your feathers, I ain't gonna hurt him," The hunter huffed, and the air was free again, "Just take some notes the next time he gets a paper cut or somethin’."

It took a solid two minutes of shoulder patting and reassurances to get Shane to just relax, please, because he was tearing his stitches and almost an hour of Ryan's dedicated effort to prevent his death. The discussion drifted to other topics, and Ryan let the account of the old hunter's recent cases wash over him, and the work went by much faster. 

It's nearly midnight when the others disperse, leaving them in the panic room to spend the night. Demons didn't technically need sleep, but the amount of damage Shane and his body had sustained had exhaustion written along the lines of his face and shoulders. Pity it didn't take anything away from his damn kind, stubborn heart. 

"You're taking the bed, end of discussion."

"Not happening, Shane, you're like two seconds away from fainting." 

"But I'm all patched up!" He gestured generally to his torso, which was more than three-quarters of the way to becoming a mummy. Ryan could literally see the man's face light up, "Plus, I'm immortal, baby!"

"Oh really? You're pulling out that excuse this early in the game?" Ryan snorted, half-turning as he pulled off his shirt, a hand already reaching for the bundle of clothes Bobby had left for them. 

Ryan frowned at the dark stains spattering the front, dried blood obliterating parts of little food item figures drawn in full color. He hadn't realized what he was wearing inside his jacket, it wasn't important at the time, his arm had just done its thing and picked this one out. He was definitely getting a replacement from the merch store, not that he'd ever admit it to Shane. 

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Shane's silence. He almost gave himself whiplash with how quickly he turned, heart beating fast and combing his sensory input,  _ did he hear a thud did Shane pass out why isn't he quipping back— _

And Shane was okay. He was just standing there, a look of awe on his face as his eyes jumped all over Ryan. Which, okay, was kind of weird. It's not like they haven't seen each other shirtless before, heck, they've done way stranger things at work, so there really wasn't a reason for Shane to react like this. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, tentative. Shane's smile was making his eyes curvy again, and something in Ryan's stomach fluttered. 

"I take it you haven't had the chance to look in the mirror today?"

"What do you mean?" He said, scanning Shane for signs of further injury, and his voice only trembled a little. It's not like there was much to look at, he'd lost most of his muscle mass over the past months, and he didn't need to look to know he half looked like a ghost himself.

"Hey, stop that." The taller man's eyebrows drew together slightly, "Don't think like that."

Ryan's eyes widened, "You—you can read my mind?"

"I don't need to." Shane's face was stern, but his gaze was soft. A few steps brought his hands to settle on Ryan's shoulder and neck, cupping his jaw gently to make the smaller man meet his eyes. 

"You are beautiful Ryan," There was an intensity in his voice that Ryan remembered well, nestled in snapshots of their shoots and dimly lit hotel rooms when Shane had needed to calm him down, offering him a sliver of peace in the dark night. "You are more than enough, you hear me?"

"If you say so." Ryan mumbled, his face was heating up and he had to blink his eyes clear.

"I do, thank you very much." Shane's eyes were twinkling now, and he let go of Ryan's face and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Ryan was still reeling from the weight Shane had taken off him with those words. So many days of staring at his reflection and thinking what happened, what had Shane sacrificed to save his stupid ass, and its all your fault, it should have been you— 

Well, ever getting rid of that would take time, but this? This was a step. 

"Let me show you what I found?"

Mutely, Ryan nodded, watching as the taller man went fishing around in a duffel bag the hunter gave them. After a few disappointed huffs, the man straightened with a satisfied 'aha', holding a machete. Even with the toiling emotions in his head, Ryan couldn't hold back a raised eyebrow. The man only grinned, rubbing at the silvery surface until Ryan could see his face in the blade. Shane held it up carefully, keeping the sharp edge facing himself, and he at least had the self-awareness to look sheepish.

"We can work with this, turn a bit."

"If you kill me, Shane, I will come back and haunt your ass."

"Please feel free to throw all tooth cleansing utensils at me."

"Shut up Shane." Ryan said, but he's smiling, and it feels good. 

He lets Shane steer him around, the man jiggling the long blade until the surface reflected a stripe of Ryan's back, with a softly glowing mark spread over it. 

"Wha—" Ryan sputters, craning his head back and stretching out a hand to prod at his skin. Yep, the marks are on there all right, and if his eyes were working properly, smooth lines spanned across his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck, with a gigantic geometric shape of an eye sitting snuggly at the center. 

"Illuminati confirmed, I guess." Shane's voice rumbled behind him.

"How... what does it mean?" Ryan breathed, too stunned to poke Shane in his newly bandaged ribs.

"I saw it peeking over your collar back at LA, but... I wasn’t sure," Shane stepped closer, a fingertip ghosting over the soft gold lines, just short of touching his skin, and Ryan shivered at the missed contact. 

"This one's bravery, insight, and of course the eye is for seer—"

"Now you're just making things up."

"Am not." Shane protested, hand perched delicately over his heart and feigning offense. 

Ryan rolled his eyes, his fingers still prodding at the marks hesitantly. It just seemed like a normal tattoo, with no raised lines or heat from the light. "But will I have to cover it? Can, like, everyone see it?"

"Not mortals," Shane's voice was low, and Ryan bit his lip to stop himself from leaning back, "I'd say it's a holy badge of honor, a warning of sorts to the things that go bump in the night."

"Oh shit," Ryan groans into his hand, the realization dawning on him insistently like the last nail in a coffin, "ghosts are going to stay so far away from me, I'll never get evidence." 

It was almost odd to think of Unsolved again, to think of planning locations and shoots and editing takes, all essential parts of what he had built for his life, all parts he had let go to hell in his grief.

"I can help with that." 

"You'd do that?" Ryan peeked at the taller man through his fingers, trying only slightly to suppress a stupid giddy hope rising in his chest, "you'd be betraying your precious Shaniacs."

"Oh they'll be okay," Shane tugged gently at Ryan's hand, threading their fingers together, pulling at him until he had the smaller man perched on the edge of the narrow bed. "If they're as logical as me, they'll accept the truth when we show it to them."

Ryan looked up at him, and there was the tenderness that always made his heart melt, but had inevitably forced him to look away because he was afraid it meant something. 

He didn't look away. It felt nice not to, this time. 

  
  


Someone was shaking his shoulder with a firm hand, the fingers digging into his sore skin, puffs of breath and a frantic voice in his ear. 

"Ryan? Ryan wake up. Oh god please not again."

"Nugh." Ryan grunted, cracking open an eye, too tired and comfortable to do much else.

It was Shane, disheveled and wild-looking, kneeling at the head of the little bed to grasp at his shoulders. Even in the dark Ryan can see the red seeping through the bandage on his shoulder and the tears on his face.

"Shane what's goin’ on? Did they find—" was all he got out before the man was enveloping him in an airtight hug again, hands bunching in Ryan's shirt and chest shaking.

"Oh," There was so much raw relief in his voice, too much, "Oh I thought—you were so still—”

"Hey," Ryan rested his cheek against Shane's shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into Shane's back as the other man clung to him, his own voice raspy from sleep, "You're here, we're both here Shane. We're okay."

The back of Shane's shirt was damp with cold sweat, parts of it sticking to his skin while the force of his shivers shook Ryan through the closeness. 

"Come up here," he murmured, leaning back on the bed to make room for the other man's lanky form, and was actually a little surprised at the lack of resistance, "you're going to get a cold on the ground like that."

"I have seen much colder, you know."

"I don't even know if you mean Chicago or hell." That got a chuckle and Ryan smiled too, gently arranging their limbs so Shane lay on his relatively uninjured side, his arms coming around to rest on Ryan's stomach. 

The quiet stretched on, bandages scratch against Shane's shirt with each rise and fall of steadying breath, Ryan’s fingers tracing the veins on Shane’s hand in long soft motions. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely a whisper of breath, Shane’s voice still thick from the tears. The bed was a tight fit for both of them, but Ryan shuffled around to face Shane. His eyes were darting around, trying to avoid Ryan’s gaze even with how close there were.

“What for?”

“This whole fucking mess, I dragged you into it. I left you alone when I swore—I swore I would keep you safe. But instead I—” Shane’s voice broke, grimacing as his breathing sped up again, turning his head away like he couldn’t bear to look at Ryan, for fear of what he might see there, “I hurt you.”

Ryan felt a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the building aches across his body. 

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“How could it not—”

“It’s not.” Ryan insisted. Gently, he reached out and took Shane’s hand into his own, prodding insistently at where his nails were digging into his palms until Shane let up on the pressure. 

“That was my choice Shane, risks and all. Me.”

“You shouldn’t have had to choose.”

For a few seconds, there was only silence and Shane’s labored breathing, his body so still while his fingers trembled. Ryan’s chest tightened at the words, and for a moment the pain and confusion of those months threatened to rise up into something ugly, howling for attention, but he pushed it back.  _ Focus now. _ There would be a time for him to lose himself to his mind, but it was not here, not now. 

Now Shane needs him. Ryan swallowed, they can do this. 

They have to.

“We don’t get to decide the circumstances. We’re here now, it’s all that matters.” He gave Shane a small smile, “Besides, I was part of this from the beginning.” 

He brought Shane’s hand up and brushed a soft kiss onto the scarred knuckles, smiling with a little of the mischievousness so familiar for just the two of them, “I’m alive thanks to you, so don’t you dare low-sell yourself Madej.”

Shane let out a half-choked sob, entwining their fingers and squeezing tightly. Ryan returned the grip in like, hard enough that he suspected the skin would tinge into dark bruises in an hour. But those marks would too in time, heal, just like the both of them. Ryan clasped their other hand over their joint grip, saying with the touch that yes, I am here, and yes, I will wait for you, however long you need.

Together.

  
  
  
  
  


Ryan was a cold case. It has only been a few months since the attack and Shane’s disappearance, but the police have already mentally labeled it as such, since they haven’t been able to find any concrete evidence beyond brittle maybes and perhaps. 

Shane was good at his job after all.

It didn't take much to erase those doubts right out of the detectives' heads, and all that was left was to reappear to the public to the uproar from the media and fans alike. But that could be dealt with as well. 

Both of them were still raw, and it takes them another month to return to work, hand in hand. There is a small welcome party, joy and concern in equal measures from their friends and crew, they nod and smile, and it's like nothing ever happened.

If anything, the whole mess had increased the fanbase.

The internet is weird like that. 

"What do you think we should do after this?" 

Ryan looked over, the light from his laptop casting the dim room into half-shadows, fingers tapping idly on the cool metal surface. He's still skittish, but Shane's steady warmth at his side has always been a calming presence. Even more so now, with what he knows.

"Hm?" 

They were looking at locations again, comfortably settled on Ryan's couch with popcorn between them. With all Ryan tended to obscure the actual case facts, Shane always was part of the major decision makings. And now that Ryan has the capacity to wonder, he thinks perhaps the other man had more insight on the contents waiting for them at those places than he ever dared show. 

"I mean, when we finally reveal the big bad truth about the supernatural, Unsolved Supernatural isn't gonna be that anymore is it?" 

Shane's voice was soft, but the words hit him like physical things. 

Sure, maybe he has been avoiding thinking in that direction, but it seemed so surreal to be planning ahead with their normal lives when all of it could be wiped out in an instant. It toyed with his mind, this threat that dangled above their heads, a knife that could just as easily be a nuke on a timer. 

It's not like Shane wasn't affected, Ryan's not blind to the tightness in his shoulders, the sharp turns of his head, the flashes of black in his eyes, the nightmares. 

"I—I haven't thought that far." He admitted because Shane had been right, he didn't need mind-reading to tell Ryan's thoughts, and he'll be damned if he let any miscommunication get between them again.

"I mean we're still going to have True crime going, but you know, maybe with the free time you could start something, flex some of those directing and editing skills." Shane's smiling eyes meet Ryan's and warmth coils in his chest, even as he opens his mouth to protest, "You do! You've got them, don't be modest."

"That, um, sounds smart," he said, frowning as his mind chased after that glimmer of light, "Pretty big risk too." Would there even be the point?

"But then again, isn't being alive one big risk, for us anyway," Shane bumped him gently with his shoulder, "I'm just putting it out there as one of the options, but whatever you decide on, I'll be right there with you."

Ryan can't find words so he just stared at Shane, he found himself doing that a lot nowadays. Then he pokes at Shane's side lightly.

"How am I supposed to spite you for giving me shit about ghosts all those years when you just go and be all noble and, and— _ good _ like this?"

"So you're saying if I keep to my usual chivalrous self you'll forgive me?" 

It was the excessive eyelash batting that did it, Ryan told himself, as he busied himself in battling past the other man's defenses to get at the spots he knew were ticklish. It was admittedly cheating since Shane was handicapped from using most of his supernatural powers, but that didn't weigh heavily on Ryan's conscience, both of them rapidly spiraling into breathless giggles.

"I yield I yield!" Shane wheezed, putting up his hands in surrender, both of them slumping back onto the sofa in exhaustion, still shoulder to shoulder. 

Ryan was smiling so hard his face hurt, and he leaned into Shane's side, entwining their fingers together between them and bouncing them once on his leg. He wondered if Shane knew how relieved he was that he had Shane with him, that all they had been through had not left him alone again. He should tell him that, soon, so that his stubborn head will stop blaming himself for all this. 

"So about your mission," He started, keeping his voice light even when the question weighs heavy on his tongue. Why him, he wanted to ask, what was there about him that stopped Shane from finishing his job and being done with it? But he could already feel the other man's body tensing up against his side. 

"Ryan—" Shane said quietly, the warning tone sending a shiver through Ryan, but he pressed on.

"I'm just saying, you can talk to me about that stuff you know? You've always been there when I needed you, let me repay the favor. I can take it." Ryan paused, Shane was sitting very still, gaze shifting around to finally fall on their joined hands on Ryan's lap. 

"I'll have you know that meeting you, working with you and now this," Ryan plops their hands again for good measure, smiling up at the other man, "These are the best damn years of my life. And I'll keep saying it until it gets through to your big head."

Shane brushed his thumb across the back of Ryan's hand, and when he finally looked up his eyes were shining.

"I must have done some incredible things in my last life to deserve you." He murmured with a soft laugh, and something in Ryan's chest twisted to see the joy fade away from Shane's face as he takes a few shallow breaths to steel himself. 

"I was stuck in darkness for so long, just obeying. I was weak, so I lost myself in the missions, the kills, just because it was _ easy _ ." 

Shane's voice was hollow with disgust when he eventually spoke, and he swallowed, looking down at his hands as if he could see the blood still staining them, a color that he could never scrub clean.

"But you weren't. Easy, I mean. You're so bright and so incredibly _ human _ , all the time. It—it made me want to live too, to get back the life I didn't get to have."

Ryan looked at Shane, the person who was responsible for a rough ninety-five percent of frights and joys, terrors and comfort in the past few years, and found himself wanting more years like those, maybe for the rest of his life. 

"You can now big guy," He murmured, and the words quivered slightly with the possibilities they held, infinite. It almost came out as a promise, but he was standing on dark glass with a yawning pit stretching beneath. So it set into a question instead, "Together?"

Shane's eyes found his, and they were bright and tilted—not in sorrow, no. These were Shane Madej's Sad Eyes ™ and they curved into crescent moons, brimming with silver-lined joy.

"Yeah." Shane's voice was rough, and he cleared his throat, breaking into a smile and tipping his head down to press a soft kiss on Ryan's head. It was just a tickle of movement in Ryan's hair, such a simple, small movement but it lit up his chest with the pure  _ domesticity _ of it. The damn wholesomeness jumped on him all at once, bubbling over until Ryan burst into giggles, Shane following suit a second later, and soon they were a cackling tangle of limbs shaking apart on the couch again.

"I—I have a proposition to make." Shane choked out breathlessly, wiping a tear from his eyes and grinning down at where Ryan was half laying on top of him, both of them now stretched out along the length of the couch. It was just long enough. 

"Oh yeah?" Ryan wheezed, then his brain chose to bop up a piece of history, and he pointed an accusing finger at the other man, "It better not have singing in it, I'm warning you."

"Now that you asked so nicely, it's definitely gonna be in there." Shane booped Ryan’s nose and oh he's definitely smirking, twisting and laughing some more when Ryan poked him in the stomach in revenge.

"You like my singing admit it! No one else's here to see." Shane positively crooned, planting an exaggerated kiss to the top of Ryan's head.

"Not in a million years." Ryan grumbled into the material of Shane’s shirt. It smelled like the popcorn they just had and Ryan’s laundry detergent.

"Oh I'm happy to wait," Came Shane's reply, quiet again, "but that's a bet you're gonna lose buddy."

Ryan made a disgruntled noise and felt Shane's chuckle through his chest. He felt a brush of softness against his arm, then a bundle of warm fur was nestled into the crook of Ryan’s arm. 

“I bet ya a burrito that Obi’s on my side.”

“You sure about that? Maybe he’s taken a liking to me the last two months.” Ryan tells him, expecting Shane to push back, to jokingly start a count of who shoveled more litter throughout Obi’s cathood, but Shane’s tone turns serious again.

“I shouldn’t have dumped him on you like that, you had more than enough to deal with.” He paused, fingers lightly tracing the shape of Ryan’s tattoo through his shirt, “It mustn’t have been easy, so thank you for taking care of him for me.”

“He took care of me too,” Ryan laid a hand on Shane’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze, flicking his eyes up at him with a mischevious grin, “But… you never know. Maybe I was trying to secretly recruit Obi and gang up on you.”

“It wouldn’t be so smart to tell me that, now would it?” Shane’s eyes twinkle when Ryan pouts at him, and he turns his face towards the ceiling, pinching his voice into a high squeak, “Well I guess I didn’t hear a thing, then. You two go on with your totally not-happening, non-existent plan to smother me in my sleep.”

Ryan broke first, giggling and smushing his face into Shane’s side. Shane huffed out an ‘oof’ when Obi, having had enough of the extremely low structural integrity of the loop of Ryan’s arms, padded straight across Shane’s face to settle down on the couch in the soft tangle of Shane’s hair.

"Well, what do you say to putting out quite the show for the folks out there? A grand finale with glorious victory for the Boogaras!" Shane announced suddenly, his voice rising until he's almost yelling, throwing his arms wide and jostling Ryan enough for the smaller man to lift his head, only to see Shane shooting air guns at the ceiling in with impressive gusto, grinning like the maniac he is.

"God you're so ridiculous," Ryan mumbled, but he couldn't help returning the grin while Shane's laugh rang out in the apartment. Ryan thinks he'd like that sound to stay.

Shane's still chuckling as he lowerd his arms and wrapped them around Ryan's shoulders, holding him close. Ryan buried his head in Shane's shoulder to take slow, deep breaths, eyes falling closed in the familiar contact.

"I think," Shane said with slow deliberation, and Ryan can hear the smile in his voice, "We're gonna be okay."

The air is quiet and calm, and Ryan found his heart fluttering with excitement and something like hope.

They're gonna be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAaaaahhh The End!
> 
> This is the longest thing I have ever written in my life and the second fic I started to write when I took the plunge into producing my own words back in November. I cannot express how much I would like to thank the 35 people who trusted me enough to subscribe to this story, and the hundred-something people that left kudos AND the lovely lovely comments.
> 
> You have all been as crucial in the creating and continuation of this story as I was, and I am beyond grateful for the support for this work and the motivation I got for just writing in general. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please come yell at me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/deathfrisbeeinthetardis) or in the comments about what you think, like seriously, I finally posted the ending of a thing that has been a huge part of my motivation to live for three months and I am emotional :')


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